Second Sight
by Bobby G. Grissom
Summary: Darkness looms in the shadows, drawing on haunting memories of the past and once again brings our heroes together, tightening the bonds that entwine them to each other. Sequel to All That's Left, but can be read as a stand alone. Finally complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Strength Through Wounding**

The sky above the city had turned an ominous grey from what could be seen between the swirling of purple tinged storm clouds. With the passing of September the brief reprieve they'd had of the rain had quickly vanished, and come December the temperatures had dropped considerably. It had yet to snow, however. The best they had gotten were freezing rains, which lately had been coming hard and often.

Hank Chogan watched the brewing tempest from the third floor of the psychiatrist office. His attending weekly meetings were a condition of his parole. There was just a few minutes left to the session and if he could keep silent till then he may actually be able to avoid his psychiatrist's well intentioned deductions that every problem in his life linked back to his past where the blame could then be placed on someone else. He wasn't disillusioned to the truth, however. Everything he had done had been of his own accord. On that faithful night back in April, a demonic side of him had been awakened at having witnessed his fiancé being raped and murdered before his very eyes. Held down and unable to stop the horrors, he had sought retribution for his love through the taking of the lives of all that had been involved. Through this series of events he fell into a web, which he currently was still entangled in, along with his three companions.

Sighing, he tried to shift into a more relaxing position. Nothing about the space was comfortable. The office was terribly hot, eliciting a sheen of sweat along the center of his spin, and the air was thick and stifling, but still he tried not to let his displeasure show. The seat was a hybrid between a chair and a sofa, offering the comfort of neither. The cushion was too deep and enveloping, forcing him to sit on the edge, and the legs were so short that his knees were forced to bend awkwardly towards his chest. He envied the leather back chair of the psychiatrist, but hid his thoughts behind an amiable smile.

"We only have a few minutes left, would you like to discuss what you'll be doing over the holidays? After the death of someone close, people tend to fall into depression during this season," Dr. Cliveson commented after a long lag in the conversation.

"I don't have plans," Hank replied clipped and then quickly attempted to cover his bluntness with a smile.

He was becoming frustrated with the constant intrusion on his personal life, as well as figured that the less he spoke the less chance there was of having his words misinterpreted. In truth this was his first holiday without Hannah, his fiancé – his life – but while things were hard he didn't feel he was in danger of another suicidal episode. At the thought he looked down at his wrist, at the two parallel white scars along the flesh, where in a real moment of temporary insanity he had tried to seek a bit of relief in a straight razor. The marks hadn't actually been deep enough to attempt death; he had only wanted to appease the bloodlust that had grown in him since that night. He supposed it was lucky he had found a replacement for the river of red or else he might have actually killed himself long before now.

He had Joe Shayne to thank for that. The stranger who had taken him in and helped him back to life. While the blood red streaks in his hair reminded Hank of the blood he spilt, the words the stranger spoke convinced him that he deserved to live. In a way it was as though he was being forgiven for his sins, something he still had trouble believing was possible even after all this time.

"Would you like to talk about what you and Hannah used to do over the holidays?" Dr. Cliveson asked, breaking Hank from his thoughts.

Shaking his head to clear his mind as much as answer he replied, "No, we didn't do anything special."

That was a lie. As a child he'd never been fond of the company of others, and even as an adult the words still held true, but since moving to the city he'd always had Hannah. Both of them came from similar backgrounds, raised in orphanages where doting elders were more like distant providers and self-reliance was key to survival. As a result they had kept to themselves, living a secluded life and letting no one into their small world – relying only on each other for everything they had previously never found in another human. All that was gone now, snatched from him and never to be replaced. Maybe he was wallowing and selfish in his need to despair, but he didn't care.

The time they had spent together had been so precious although he had thought so many moments trivial and inconsequential at the time. Like spending hours in the freezing cold while Hannah waited for a tree that would call out to her within the pitiful budget they had made it a point to save for. Or watching Hannah spend two days making Christmas pudding that would never quite come out right and preparing the candlelit chicken dinner for the two of them. Turkeys were too big for just the two of them and they didn't have friends to share it with so they always went with chicken breast instead. Hannah would joke that one bird was the same as the next and this way they wouldn't be eating it till the New Year.

"Well it would appear our time is up for the day," the psychiatrist finally announced to Hank's great relief. "We'll pick up again after the holidays. As always you can set the date with my secretary."

"Yes, thank you. Take care," Hank replied shaking the man's hand before stepping from the room and closing the door behind himself.

He may have been able to keep his movements from looking rushed, but he couldn't help closing his eyes for a moment and letting out a relieved sigh. Just as quickly, however, the smile was once more plastered to his lips as he approached the young secretary who smiled sweetly in return.

"Another appointment?" She asked.

"Five more months worth I'm afraid."

"We'll make it on January fifth then. That'll give you some time to recuperate from all the junk he must be pulling up. Have a happy Christmas Mr. Chogan."

"Thank you…you too." It felt awkward giving a greeting when he felt no better than a humbug.

It was an even greater relief to step from the building where cold air instantly cooled his over-heated skin and he was free from the judging eyes of Dr. Cliveson. He began to relax the further the distance between him and the building, making his way down the sidewalk to the bus stop. Even though he owned his own jeep he was never sure what his mood would be after a session and so he preferred to leave the driving to someone else. Drudging up the past for his own convenience was one thing, but to do it for the scrutiny of another was something else entirely. Even Joe, whom he had been living with since the accident, didn't know a fraction of what he was forced to share with that stranger, and he considered Joe his best friend. He didn't mind so much talking about the orphanage, but discussions of Hannah had a way of inciting the nightmares.

For a long while after the incident he had suffered the same, reliving the horror of his murderous wrath on a constant morbid loop. Every time he tried to bring up the memory of holding her all he could recall was the feel of her blood soaking his skin. Since then the habit had diminished till the point of relative extinction. Happier memories were now beginning to creep through those of that night and he relished the times when they did, but in its place a bitter hole in his heart had formed. His hatred didn't stop with the Dark Crows or the Centipede, the venomous criminals responsible for his current state, but had morphed into a distain of anyone and anything that contributed to the illegal. Hypocritical though it was, for he was no better than a criminal himself – a murderer of villains perhaps, but a murderer just the same – he still couldn't stomach any dregs of society.

He was lucky that he was able to distract himself from both his thoughts and his problems by taking care of Cody. He had once again resumed his tutoring with the teen and while it wasn't as consuming as daily bedside care it was none the less enough of a distraction that Hank was able to get through the days without focusing on the past. It was ironic that he viewed tutoring as a haven while Joe thought he was desperate for the money. Admittedly, if it wasn't for the job he would be in quite the desperate state, but Sam Genet was more than generous. Still it had taken Hank almost two months to convince Joe that he was making enough with tutoring to help pay the rent. The latter had been hard to convince, but had eventually relented to allowing Hank help him with the bills. Still Hank had felt he wasn't being given equal responsibility and had tried to make up for the fact by taking care of the housework and meals.

_Well cooking was more for my own safety…_

Hank had discovered very quickly that Joe's idea of cooking was either opening a can or throwing together every ingredient in the fridge with little regard to whether the toxic concoction was edible or not. The man's stomach must have been made of steel. Hank, on the other hand, could barely stand the sight let alone stomach the content. He had never minded cooking, though; in fact he enjoyed the task. A bittersweet smile touched his lips when he recalled how he had always laughed at Hannah's complete lack of any culinary skills and so, from the beginning, he had cooked for the two of them. Although, lately it just seemed like such a waste to put in the effort if it was only for himself.

Lately Joe had been spending most of his time outside the house, hanging out at the bar after work until the early hours of morning. It felt distinctly as though he were being shut out. Of what Hank wasn't sure, but the feeling of being an outsider was prevalent in him as of late. It was something he recognised easily, having spent the majority of his life in just that circumstance, but it felt strange coming from his rescuer. He supposed that it was possible that Joe had been distant with him from the beginning and he simply hadn't noticed before, having spent most of his time at Sam's place taking care of Cody, but he didn't think so. The changes in Joe seemed more recent. It was almost as if the more he tried to help and make himself feel useful, the further Joe drew into his strange seclusion.

Still he was sure that when Joe did finally drag his drunken self back home he would appreciate a home cooked meal and so when the bus pulled up to the stop by the market he had made habit of going to, he got off. The place was nothing more than a converted worn down factory in the inner city run by an elderly couple, but while the appearance was nothing to boast about its convenience was unmatched. Even in the dead of winter it still sold the best produce, and at the cheapest prices, as well as housed both a bakery and butcher stand. He was usual able to get all he needed for meals at the one stop.

The place seemed quiet when he walked in. Only two other customers were there with a third following in close after him. Hank didn't think it would matter much; the vendor seemed to like him and always made it a point to say hello no matter how many others were around and today proved to be no exception. The sprit elderly man stopped his dusting to call out a greeting and approached him with a sincere smile.

"Mr. Chogan!"

"Good afternoon," he replied with a polite smile of his own.

"You've come at a good time," the man informed. "We have a fresh stock of potatoes. How does that sound?"

"Good, I'll take some."

The vendor didn't wait for him to choose his own, but instead bagged the vegetables while Hank took his time perusing the other carts. The task was so mundane it had the effect of numbing his earlier inner turmoil. By the time he was ready to make his way to the cash he was once more able to fake cheerfulness.

"Mr. Chogan, how are you today?" the seller's wife asked with a smile, ringing up his total. "Are you all prepared for the holidays?"

"Not just yet, but I still have a few weeks."

Their small talk was cut short when a ruckus broke out outside. The smashing of windows was heard from down the street followed by the hoots and hollers of the street gang responsible and indignant cries from pedestrians. The elderly seller ran for the door, brandishing a broom as though it would be enough to deter the delinquents. Hank followed along with the seller's wife and two other patrons to see what was going on outside. He reached the door just as a dark car sped by, further calls following as one of the members hung from the back window and shot off a paint ball gun at the store fronts.

The seller's wife quickly crossed herself, tears filling her eyes. "Oh God help us."

Hank placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Now that the holidays are here I suppose people have more times on their hands."

And just like that reality painfully hit back down. Before her death Hannah had been trying to increase funds for after school activities to prevent kids for just this type of fate. Couples like the ones who owned this store worked hard to carve out a living for themselves and teens with too much time on their hands and no where to turn to except street gangs made them fear for their safety. It was a cruel fact of life in the inner city.

As no damage had been done to the grocers, Hank politely thanked the couple and made his way down the sidewalk. He decided to forgo talking the bus and simply walked the few blocks home. The apartment he now shared with Joe had been converted into such from a motel and on top of having been equipped with the basic kitchen, bathroom and living room like the other units, their apartment actually had two rooms as well. Living alone, Joe hadn't used the other room and so, with having given Hank the bed, he had spent a good few months on the couch. Joe had never complained about it, but Hank had always felt guilty so he had put aside money for a few months and purchased a bed from the Salvation Army store a few blocks over.

He remembered the afternoon the two of them had spent trying to maneuver the wooden mass through the doorway. No easy task. It had been worth it, though, because it had been kind of emasculating depending so fully on another after attempting his entire life never to need anyone for anything. He realized now that, that wasn't entirely possible. He needed others, but in the same sense he was needed too. Still he was at least able to put himself at ease from feeling like a house guest.

As he approached the desolate court he noticed Joe making his way down the street in his direction, head tilted down against the wind. Since the time they had first met Joe hadn't changed at all – physically at least. He was the same tall figure with a naturally tanned complexion, now rosy from exposure to the cold. He stubbornly refused to cut his hair and it now hung outgrown, curling around his collar; a deep charcoal with highlighted streaks of crimson.

"Joe," Hank called in greeting when they were only a few steps from each other. Once he noted that he had caught the other's attention he continued, "I got some groceries. What would you like for supper?"

As had lately been the case, a dark aura seemed to settle over Joe. His face shuttered and muscles tensed, he pulled the cigarette from his between his lips to reply in a clipped tone, "I'm going out tonight; I don't know when I'll be back."

"Oh," Hank replied shifting the weight of the grocery bags. "I understand."

Without another word they both continued on in separate directions.

_Oh Hannah…how did this happen? We were happy once weren't we?_

Across the street a dark figure hunched against the backdrop of an alley, stalking out its prey through a cloak of darkness. Tedious hours were spent on the watch, not deterred in the slightest by the long driving rains or the increasingly frigid winds. While only a small fraction of the time may have been spent with the target actually in site, it mattered little as not one minute of observation could be sacrificed. It was imperative that every detail be mapped out, every aspect of character be made known, with reactions carefully analysed. Success depended on having no surprises. Retribution had been escaped once already and that could not be allowed to happen a second time.

The door to the apartment across the way opened engulfing the blemish on society. The sinner tried to hide who he was, locking away the memories of what he'd done, but no longer. No, he would be made to remember…made to relive…made to suffer! There would be no end till Hank Chogan was cut down!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: These Sleeping Dogs Won't Lie**

The beat of the steady techno music infused with Joe Shayne's pounding heartbeat. The staccato rhythm pulsed through his ears and almost drowned out all other noises. His shift had ended a few hours ago and since then he had sough to relieve his tension on the dance floor. The combined feel of the drunken buzz that pulled at the edges of his senses, warmth of the sleek limbs that entwined with his own and the pleasant tension of overused muscles all had the desired effect. In fact, he was sure this was the best he had felt all month.

It was strange suddenly having all this bottled tension. He couldn't even pin point its exact cause. Perhaps it was having someone like Hank living with him and his nurturing nature. The set up may have been arbitrarily present for the past six months, but in actuality Hank had pretty much been living with Sam Genet and Cody Sonnagh. After the accident Cody hadn't been able to move at all, even after having been released from the hospital, so Hank had become a bedside nurse for him. Spending just about all day keeping the former company while Sam tended to his own affairs. After that it was back to tutoring with the added physiotherapy in the afternoons. By the time he got home in the evenings Joe would be heading out to work and so it happened where often days would pass with them not spending more than a few minutes together.

It was the typical roommate set up, or so Joe assumed not having had many himself. Still lately there had been a noticeable shift in the arrangement. Then again, maybe it was just his imagination and his unease was simply an infusion of that with his distain of the Christmas holidays that were fast approaching.

In an attempt to dispel the nagging musings that were once more pulling at him, Joe dragged the girl he was dancing with closer. He tightened his grip around her waist and changed their rhythm, grinding more than swaying now. For the life of him he couldn't remember her name but she looked like a Candy or a Barbie, or some other first-name-only dessert. She wasn't particularly memorable, although she had nice even features. A heart shaped face with no particular emphasis on cheekbones, plain brown eyes and mousy hair, little hip definition and maybe a 'B' size cup, if even that. What had attracted him were her legs, clad in skin tight black leather short shorts with the smallest bit of red knee highs peaking out of sleek leather, healed boots.

With his alcohol induced inhibitions, his fantasy of taking the girl with nothing but those boots on her, the heals scrapping along his lower back where her ankles would be locked to keep her in place, became entirely possible. She was no less willing, it seemed, if the way she pushed back against him was any indication.

His blood felt as though it were boiling with long suppressed need and so without any further hesitation he took hold of her arm and led her towards the back rooms in the club. Upon seeing the ugly grey that made up every aspect of the room from the walls to the covers, he was reminded of Cody and all feelings of passion were quickly dissolved. It didn't seem as long as it was that he had been wracked with worry over the teen being led into one of these rooms. The encounters may have only been a means for quiet discussion but the results of the situation were still felt, not only by the teen but all of them.

Almost in desperation Joe latched on to the girls' neck seeking the calm freedom from the dance floor. Her encouraging moans began to spur his lust once more. Delicate fingers feathered through his hair, pulling him closer and massaging his scalp in a decidedly seductive manner. He kissed his way back up along the arch of her throat, gently tugging her earlobe between his teeth and eliciting another throaty moan from her. Grinning to himself, he tugged her hips tighter against his and latched on to the tender skin behind her ear as he moved back towards the bed. All the while the girl ran her hands along the nape of his neck, tugging the strands playfully, but with an annoying consistency.

He wished she would touch him somewhere else – anywhere else at this point – but he tried to ignore the exasperation as they tumbled together against the thin mattress and quickly adjusted themselves along the narrow space. He pressed a knee between her thighs and propped up on his elbows to look down at her. The sight was one of erotic beauty. Her face was flushed and her eyes were dilated and glossy. Her lips, swollen from their earlier kisses, were gently parted as she gasped softly for air. Her chest rose to brush against his with every breath before falling again.

Unable to help himself he pressed against her lips once more, forcing them apart so he could explore the sweet cavern of her mouth. He couldn't seem to get close enough, couldn't drink in enough of her cherry flavour. Suddenly the thin material of her shirt was too much of a barrier to her warmth. As he pushed his hands under the cloth that pressed to her as though it were painted on and which was as difficult to remove as a second skin, she pulled her lips from his gasping deeply. Without hesitation he fastened his lips to the creamy expanse of her shoulder, revelling in the smoothness of her stomach, as he sought to press higher.

"Oh, Joe," she moaned, tossing her head along the pillow, her hands flying back to his hair.

He growled in frustration and tried to shake her off, but she simply giggled and grasped the strands tighter, although not enough to inflict any pain.

"I just love your hair. You must tell me who dyes it," she whispered throatily in his ear.

The comment, while meant innocently, had the effect of instantly killing any lust he may have had. With a sigh of deep suffering annoyance he reached up to pull her hands away and rolled off her. Sitting up against the headboard he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, quickly lighting one in hopes of at least calming his nerves with the toxin. Confused she sat up as well and draped herself along his side, licking and nibbling along his neck to get him to come back.

"What's the matter baby, don't you want to play?"

The luring teasing had no effect and the clingy way in which the girl held on to him and the open mouthed kisses she planted along his skin just further served to agitate him. Blowing out a stream of smoke he disentangled from the girl and rose from the bed, walking towards the door as she sat in stunned silence.

"Maybe another time, I'm not feeling it now," he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back in case he found himself wracked with guilt over leaving her like that, after having been the one to entice her in the first place.

It wasn't fair of him to be so cold, but he had his reasons. No one could expect him to act any different, in his opinion, had they known that his hair was his own symbol for his impure birth. He had nothing of his real mother, not a memento, memory or even so much as a picture and at the age of thirteen it had become quite clear that he would never find approval from his step mother, even though he had continued pathetically to try. So as a way to console himself and in an attempt to draw a connection with the dead women who had given birth to him, he had streaked his own hair to represent the blood ties they shared. Streaked because half of him still belonged to his father and to the man's great displeasure they shared the same color hair.

Of course the act had also been a source of pain in more ways than one. It had been an emotional torment to know that the symbol would be the only connection he had with someone who may or may not have loved him. After all who else but a mother could love a child born of sin? Still she hadn't lived long enough to prove if she would have been caring and Joe could only torment himself wondering if she would have abandoned him too. Both his mother and Dom had never seen her, let alone met her so Joe didn't know what kind of person she was. He couldn't ask his father either because the man had been as approachable as a beast on the hunt. The only time he touched Joe was when hitting him and the only time he spoke to him was when delivering threats. Broaching the subject of his birth would have meant a sure death.

As it was, his father looked upon the dyeing as an outright defiance and had beaten him severely for it. Joe hadn't been given an opportunity to explain any different and it wasn't until later that night, while Dom was taking care of him, that he was finally able to confide in someone what he had been trying to accomplish. Dom had made him swear not to tell their parents the truth. He had said that their mother wouldn't be able to handle it. He hadn't needed to say as much as Joe already knew that himself. Just the sight of him was a reminder of all that her husband had done, she didn't need any extra visual on top of the fact that Joe hadn't wanted to give her another reason to hate him. However, the added distain it instilled in his parents wasn't enough of an incentive for him to change it back. After a while his father forgot about it, only beating him for it when he was in the mood and had no other reason, not that he needed an excuse most times.

Quickly Joe made his way out of the club, skirting along the packed crowd and avoiding any eye contact. For the past few years, most days he didn't even think about his hair, but the reminder of what it stood for always seemed to have the effect of darkening his mood. Considering how he had been feeling lately, a darker outlook was really the last thing he needed. His luck didn't seem to be improving any either, as when he stepped outside the heavens opened up as though spitefully trying to punish him for something.

He tilted his face up, allowing the bitingly cold water to wash over him, revelling in the feel. He had no particular aversion to the rain, although it remained him of that night some seven years ago. The night his mom kicked him out. So lost was he in memory at this point that, although he heard the footsteps come up behind him, he didn't give them any care until a voice spoke out.

"Joe, that you?"

Not moving from his position Joe sighed, recognizing the deep baritone instantly. Maybe Hank wasn't the cause for his unease after all. For weeks now Dom had been hunting him down everywhere, demanding that they talk.

"Leave me alone," he finally mumbled after a minute, once the other man had come to stand by him.

"How much longer are you going to sulk? I'm getting sick of always having to track you down," Dom said, his voice gaining an annoyed edge.

Again Joe sighed, dropping his head and brushing away the gathered moisture from his face with his sleeve. Little was accomplished but at least it allowed him to continue to avoid eye contact with his brother.

"I'm not sulking, just leave me alone," he snapped back, turning to walk in the direction of home.

He suddenly felt very tired, the alcohol making his head feel heavy. The deep exhaustion increased when a second step of footsteps began to match his own. He chose to ignore them at first, but as the minutes ticked by it proved to be harder and harder to do so.

"Quit following me!" he finally shouted into the silence of the streets, whirling around to face the other.

It was a bit of a shock to his muddled brain to see the look of weariness on Dom's face where just moments ago aggravation had been. Anger was an emotion he had always been able to deal with, but he didn't know how to react to this sudden turn of events. He wasn't good when the other person looked like they were suffering. He hated it. The tears…she had always cried…because of him.

_If I had never existed…then mother wouldn't have had to cry so much._

Joe shook his head to dispel the threatening thoughts, effectively giving himself a headache.

"Damn it Dom, stop being such a fucking bastard. I'm not in the mood for this. Will you just piss the fuck off?"

Before he could even process the motion Dom had thrust his hand out and grabbed a fistful of Joe's jacket, pulling him close so he crowded his personal space threateningly. The dark narrowed gaze was cold and angry, and although it was directed straight at him, Joe was thankful that Dom was back to his old self.

The two brothers faced each other off silently for a moment before Dom threatened in a low voice, "You watch your fucking mouth you little shit head. You can be pissed all you want, but you're going to damn well listen to me and get the full story. It took me a bloody long time to find you and I'm not about to waist more time chasing you around the city."

Joe clenched his fists at his sides and ground his jaw, hissing out, "Well you shouldn't have wasted your time because I still have no intention of listening to you."

He knocked Dom's hands away and began making his way down the street once more. He heard his brother curse behind him, but luckily it didn't seem like the other would follow.

"You're a damn annoying drunk, Joe," Dom called after him, storming in the opposite direction. "Don't think I'm letting it end like this."

However, Joe wasn't listening at this point and by the time he walked through the door of his apartment a few minutes later he was humming softly to himself. While he didn't keep particularly quiet, despite the ungodly hour and the fact that someone was sleeping just down the hall, he at least had the good sense not to slam the door closed behind him, as was usually his habit. His mood tampered, however when he looked up. He couldn't seem to get used to the site that greeted him. The cleanly swept room. The food made for him and sitting, wrapped on the table. The feeling of somebody waiting up for him…

Turning away from the display he tossed his jacket in the direction of the sofa as he made his way to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:** **Housing All This Doubt And Insecurity**

Cody Sonnagh shifted uncomfortably in one of the handful of vinyl seats in the waiting room of a small clinic. The scene was one he was use to especially since the last few months had him visiting one doctors' office or another. Every other week, it seemed, he was at the hospital for blood tests and x-rays and such, daily at the physiotherapist and then at this clinic for a weekly check up. He had seen more people in lab coats than he could ever have imagined and was sure that he had spent enough time in hospital to last him several lifetimes.

However, he had found that with repetition there was no ease in this case. Having spent his life up to date avoiding exactly this type of setting was not a fear that was easily released. Long ago he had worried about someone calling him on his uncle's obvious physical abuse and then later he had worried about placing himself in any type of setting that might make him traceable. Having his name on a patient registry would have meant instant death given the type of pursuer he'd had. He still hadn't gotten over the fear of being dogged across states by the worst sort of criminal possible. Soren, or more commonly known as the God of War due to his considerable clout in the illegal firearms trade and smuggling business, had been quite the force to reckon with. In an uncountable number of situations he had made people disappear without a trace over small matters, while in Cody's case he'd had a personal grudge.

Still, despite all of Cody's injuries that had nearly killed him, if not literally than certainly mentally, he was undoubtedly lucky that he had managed to survive, given he was a little worse for wear. He was still haunted by the nightmare of his two kidnappings and even the thought of it now was enough to send a cold chill down his spin and shivers to cringe through his veins.

Hank must have noticed his reaction because he turned to him with a gentle, slightly concerned smile and said, "Cody you've been here before, you have nothing to worry about. They just want to check your progress and make sure there haven't been any complications."

Cody nodded back in reply and anxiously cast his gaze around the room. Sam had found the place purposefully because he knew the hospital had unnerved him even more and the clinic was just as equipped to handle his case, in addition to having a low clientele. Upon his release from Sacred Heart Cody's file had been transferred to the small clinic run out of a strip mall almost on the outskirts of town and owned by an elderly couple. Despite all the efforts to make the place homey with tacky Christmas decorations designed to make patients like him feel comfortable, nothing could erase the smell of industrial cleaner and disinfectant. It burrowed into his nose and settled in the form of a nauseating pit in his stomach.

He shifted in his seat again and wrung his hands together when the elderly secretary, the wife of the doctor, cleared her throat and called out the name of the next patient.

"Cody?" Hank said gently, leaving his obvious question unvoiced.

Clearing his throat, he wiped his damp palms across his jeans and in an attempt to sway the worry of his friend replied, not untruthfully, "I just wish Sam was here."

He couldn't say why it was exactly, but the blonde detective had a way of calming him like no other. Cody relaxed back in his seat and took a deep breath as he thought of the recent concession the other had made for him. Cody had never had a real Christmas, or any form there of for that matter, so with a little cajoling and begging he had managed to wear Sam down into buying decorations. It had taken the teen a full weekend to put them up, but it had been worth it. He loved the paper cutout snowflakes that now adorned every window, which Hank had shown him how to make, but his favorite was the Christmas tree. Sam had wanted to buy a ready decorated, fake three-foot tall monstrosity, but Cody had begged enough to change his mind. They'd settled on a four-foot real tree and had purchased a cheap stand to sit it in, but Sam had spoiled him with the bobbles and other decorations.

A lazy smile played across Cody's lips at the thought. He loved sitting and looking at the tree about as much as he loved watching Christmas specials on TV. When he moved in with Sam it had been the first time since living with his uncle that he had, had access to a television set. He wasn't really one for the mindless entertainment, preferring to go out to clubs, but he was a whore for the Christmas cartoons. He especially loved the _Peanut_ one with the true meaning of Christmas. He had seen it twice already.

Just as he was beginning to relax in his thoughts the secretary cleared her throat again and called out to the small waiting room, "Cody Sonnagh? Please go in."

"Thank you," Hank replied with a nod, closing his book and pocketing his glasses.

The first time he had gone for a check up, once released from the hospital, it had taken Cody quite a while to build up the nerve to ask Sam and Hank to come in with him, but luckily since then they had continued to do so ever since. He was highly conscious of the fact that he was almost an adult on top of the fact that he had been in actually dangerous situation to which this didn't even compare, and needing someone to hold his hand when at the doctors' was beyond the limits of pathetic. Still whenever this moment came he didn't think about how childish he was; all he could ever seem to concentrate on was the sweat that slowly pooled down the center of his spin, the fact that his hands weren't quite steady and the difficulty he had in catching his breath.

With stiff movements Cody managed to relocate to the small office, Hank following behind him and closing the door before they each took their places before the desk. Cody's muscles felt tight enough to snap, but the doctor smiled kindly knowing that in a few minutes the teen would calm down and then he'd be able to take his blood pressure. They began with menial questions, slowly working their way up to the exam. Cody hated being touched as much as he hated the place, but the doctor was gentle and never inappropriate.

At some length the doctor finally commented, "Everything seems to be quite fine, Cody. Your physiotherapy seems to have done wonders on your recovery."

Not knowing what to say he chose instead to shrug his reply, not meeting the other's gaze. The doctor seemed unfazed and pressed on, "Now lets take a look at that hand shall we?"

Cody's apprehension rose yet again as he watched the doctor take up his left hand. No matter how many times he did this he cringe every time the doctor pricked his ring finger with the needle… and then felt his body slump in disappointment when he didn't feel the pain that he should. The process was repeated with his pinky and palm, yielding the same results, until the needle was pressed to the fleshy part between his index and thumb and he twitched at the sting.

Sighing, the doctor placed the needle in a jar of alcohol disinfectant and motioned for Cody to follow him back to the desk. He didn't like the look the elderly man had. It was the type of look that preceded bad news and he didn't want any more bad news.

Hank must have noticed the look as well because he asked, "Is it his hand? Is there a problem with the nerves again?"

"The reason for the loss of sensation and muscle paralysis was because of the Ulnar nerve in the elbow. It travels down the forearm and into the wrist, which is why the hand was affected. When he broke his arm the fractured bone pressed against the nerve, but even prior to that his wrists were put under a lot of strain. He might have had the same effect in time; the process was just sped up by the fracture. Now as you know the pressure was originally relieved through surgery and the sling helped from straining the arm further, but while we can treat the muscle difficulty with physiotherapy, I'm afraid if sensation hasn't return by now there isn't anything else that can be done."

"Is the damage permanent then?" Hank asked while Cody was still in too much shock at the possibility to speak.

"There's no permanent damage to the nerve itself. He'll have full motion and just needs to make sure that he continues his regime for now and tries not to strain the arm too much." The doctor fidgeted around till he pulled loose a paper from his desk and handed it over to Hank. "Here's a list of thing he can do that will help in the long run. As for the sensation…it can be permanent, but recovery can also be spontaneous. I'm afraid there's nothing to do but wait."

They left the doctors' office shortly after and stepping outside, Cody found himself engulfed in a gray haze that matched his mood perfectly. The air was damp and cold, but he paid no mind to his discomfort as he stood just outside the doors and looked down at his hand. Gently he brushed against the fingers and just as before he felt nothing, not even the slightest bit of sensation. It was the strangest thing, seeing himself touching the appendages, knowing he was touching them, but feeling nothing in the slightest. The thought that he might never feel them again was disheartening and in desperation he pressed down harder, hoping for some reaction, but to no avail.

He didn't heard Hank come up behind him and while the sudden gentle hand placed on his shoulder would normally have startled him, he was now just too tired and depressed to react. Even though he had been caught he dropped his hands to his side, curling his fists in his pockets. The two of them stood together for a moment, Hank offering silent comfort, which Cody gratefully absorbed.

At last Hank spoke, gently and logically pointing out, "Cody your arm was broken for hours without medical attention. The bone was practically shattered. You're lucky they were able to fix it at all and if loss of sensation is all that you suffer now you should consider yourself lucky."

He knew Hank was right of course, but it didn't really help. Just as knowing that loss of sensation in only two fingers was hardly a big deal when compared to the alternative of having an amputated arm. Melancholic, he sighed and tried to put it past him. Quickly assimilating to the idea of his new life, as he often had to do in the past.

Hank squeezed his shoulder and leading them to the jeep said, "Why don't I make you breakfast. I'm sure you'll feel better after you eat."

Cody knew it wasn't a jab at his glutinous eating habits. Even though, ever since he had started living with Sam he had been gorging at every opportunity possible, relishing the fact that he could eat his fill as opportunities to do so had been scarce before moving in with the detective. Instead, what Hank was referring to was the fact that before a doctor visit Cody could never eat. His nerves made it so that he could never stomach anything and so it had become habit for them to grab a very late breakfast after his checkups, which always seemed to place him in a better mood.

It may have been late for breakfast, but Cody didn't care. In a couple of hours he found himself savoring the meal of fluffy pancakes, maple syrup coated sausages, along with bacon and scrambled eggs. Admittedly he really was turning spoiled. Up until he came to live with Sam he couldn't remember a time when he had been taken care of this way. The closest he had come was the year he spent with his best friend – only friend at the time – Nathan Prince, but the two could barely compare. Sam didn't just offer protection like Nathan did, he also provided for Cody materialistically, was providing him with an education and giving him a life. It was more than he ever hoped to dream for. And there in lay the problem he had been faced with recently.

Sam had taken him in not even knowing his last name, had put his life on the line to protect Cody from Soren and trusted him unquestioningly, but Cody felt he could never repay him for all that he had done. He wasn't use to being a dependent; he had always managed to take care of himself. Even living with his uncle, after his parent's death, he had worked his stay by cooking and cleaning. At times he had even deluded himself into thinking that his uncle had a right to hit him. After all the very same words had been shouted at him by his uncle often enough. With Sam, however, the detective kept such a clean house to begin with that cleaning was pointless and often went unnoticed and Sam would usually be the one to make supper, favoring his own unique tastes to Cody's.

With a sigh he dropped his fork to his plate, his melancholy returning.

"So what's Sam up to today?" Hank asked conversationally, carrying a cup of coffee to the table.

Picking his fork up once more, Cody played with the food on his plate for a moment before answering, "I don't know. He finished his last case so I think he's trying to find out about the scroll again."

Ever since Cody had passed on his burden to Sam the latter had been absorbed almost to the point of obsession with it. From the moment Cody was finally able to get out of bed and move around the house again he could see that Sam would lock himself in his study for hours on end, looking over the strange writing on the scroll, trying to do searches for its history and contacting a never ending list of people who might provide him with insight. If not in his study then Sam would be found in the attic, rummaging through the boxed possession of his late father to see if he had left anything behind about it.

Before either could comment further, though, Joe came stumbling groggily into the room. He looked hung-over, his face pale and eyes bloodshot. As he stumbled to the chair beside Cody, Hank stood to pour a second cup and retrieve a couple of aspirin, silently handing over both things. The occurrence had become routine from what Cody saw, which surprised him since in the almost three years he had known Joe, he had never been one to become so frequently intoxicated. Cody wasn't given the chance to worry long as Hank's next words broke him from his worry.

"You should eat something. The pills might be hard on your empty stomach. There's plenty of breakfast."

"Yeah, sorry I didn't eat the dinner," Joe said as he snatched the fork from the serving plate the eggs had been on.

"Nope, it's alright. The food keeps well anyway," Hank replied, placing a clean ashtray on the table before moving to the kitchenette to do the dishes.

"No you don't!" Cody quickly shouted, pulling back his plate of pancakes from Joe's questing fork. "These are way too good to share"

"You little punk! If you eat so many you'll turn fat."

"Doesn't matter," Cody stuck out his tongue at the banter. "Hank made them for me so get your own."

As their forks clanked in battle Hank called to them to stop, saying he'd make more.

Cody's arm was still throbbing with the forming of an immanent bruise from their tussle, an hour later as he walked home. Hank had offered him a lift since the weather looked bad, but so long as it wasn't snowing Cody didn't mind. He had suffered the cold under worse conditions and at least now he was better dressed then he had ever been. Besides, he liked taking his time and admiring the decorations down the streets were Sam lived. It was like walking in another world. It was a nicer side of town so people weren't afraid to go all out; the chance of vandalism was practically non-existent.

Even the small strip of storefronts a few blocks over had enchanting display windows. The few toy stores and dress boutiques had everything from sweeping displays of miniature villages to Victorian decorated Christmas trees complete with working train set chugging along its base. The restaurants were simpler; garland and lights, or window painted designs of Santa and elves and such. It was a bit of a disappointment actually. Since the restaurants were Cody's favorite place to be he wished they would decorate more.

As he trudged along towards home, this time something new in one of the windows caught his attention. It was a 'help wanted' sign.


	4. Chapter 4

Colten Genet – Komyou Sanzo

Cameron Bosa – Kanzeon Bosatsu aka Merciful Goddess

Jerry - Jiroushin (The guy always around Kanzeon Bosatsu)

**Chapter 4: Disgusting As The Highest Of God's Heavens**

Row upon row of tombstones lay, back dropped by the gray afternoon sky. Perfectly lined and somehow symmetrical despite the variety of sizes and shapes. All were interconnected through a maze of pathways worn to muddy trails, now frozen over in the growing winter cold. Sam Genet had spent quite some time ghosting along the area till he had finally found what he had been searching for. The rather average sized, squared design marker of his adoptive father's grave.

It had been over two years since he'd last been and it shamed him to see that the site showed it. The grounds were kept well enough; the grass was cut and watered during the warm months and old trees and bushes provided shade and atmosphere. However, this spot had offered no flowers like the other graves, dead leaves from the fall still gathered at the base of the stone, and weeds, now frozen and browned in the cold, had sprouted. The cold earth was still caked under Sam's fingernails from his efforts to clear the weeds away. He'd also picked up a small bouquet of calla lilies at a flouriest shop in the area, before arriving at the cemetery. They stood out starkly in comparison to the bleakness of the world around, like the moon glowing in a blackened sky, but they weren't out of place. They added atmosphere to the darkness just as the man himself had. The two blended with a bittersweet nature.

For months he had toiled over every possession of his father's; every computer file, journal, and saved piece of scrap note was studied in hopes that it would lead to some clue as to what Colton's involvement with the scroll was, but nothing had come of it. He couldn't even remember a time when Colton would have mentioned something about it. He had never seemed distressed over the loss of what must have been something precious for while the parchment, still white and crisp, didn't look particularly valuable, for someone like Soren, the God of War, to covet it then it must have been of great worth. Nor had Colton ever disappeared unexpectedly or gone for questionable meetings… Everything had been just it always was.

_Was I so absorbed in myself that I didn't notice?_

School had been his greatest focus at the time. Having managed to graduate high school early through advanced placement classes he had jumped straight into law in college in preparation for becoming a police officer. Was it possible that in his effort to make top grades he had lost sight of what was happening to Colton? His father had always joked with him that he worked too hard and that he was allowing the world to pass him by in the mean time, but Sam couldn't believe he had truly been so blind.

_Did you think you couldn't trust me with this?_

The possibility bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Perhaps that was why he couldn't put the matter to rest. Under normal circumstances he would have dropped the mater long before. He wasn't in the habit of causing himself unneeded trouble. However, Cody had said the scroll was meant for his father and he needed to know why that was. What connection could his father have with the scroll? Or perhaps a better question was: what connection did his father have to Soren, the last known possessor of the scroll prior to Cody and himself?

Just the same, even given his desperate curiosity he needed to be realistic as well. Sam knew others must have been looking for it as well; Karl, his neighbor and the son of a mob boss, had admitted as much, so if he turned careless in his inquiry he could risk making a bigger target of himself and Cody. As it was, he had already vowed that if he didn't find any new information before Christmas he would lock the damn thing in a safety deposit box and put himself out of his misery. Of course the possibility of doing such wasn't any more of a comfort.

With a sigh he turned from the grave and made his way back down to the street. With his new found time limit and having exhausted all other sources, Sam had decided it was time to call in help. He was going to ask Cameron Bosa.

While the cold had not been enough to encourage him to take his car he did opt to use the subway instead of walk. He wasn't one for driving, not since he had gotten in a car accident that took his father's life, and especially not when it looked like it might rain. With the weather acting the way it had been, chances were more likely than it snowing. He wasn't about to complain about taking the underground, however. He wouldn't have minded the walk in good weather, but it took less than twenty minutes to get to the police station this way. Before he knew it, he had reached the dark silhouette of the gothic style prison hold. Much like the rest of the buildings in the inner city it looked ominous; the gigantic Christmas wreath hanging in the center of the building, above the door did little to curb its appeal.

Contrary to its outward appearance, however, the interior was kept updated and fresh. The oak wood floors were kept clean with runners throughout the room to collect the slush and wetness from outside, high vaulted windows allowed from a lot of natural light, and the large space was effectively organized with optimal work stations. As he walked down the hall he noted that the activity seemed relatively mild, although of the few officers that were there none seemed to be with time to mill around.

The crowd, luckily small, instantly began to buzz as he made his way to the police chief's office. It wasn't often he went down to the precinct, but it always seemed to entice talk when he did. The senior officers could never seem to get use to his age or the fact that their police chief would need to ask such a 'kid' for help at times. He knew it would please them to know the roles were being reversed on this case, but he ignored the lot as he approached Jerry's desk. Jerry was second in command of sorts and Bosa's right hand man. While an officer himself, the older man played secretary for Bosa on a regular occurrence. He was friendly and devoted to his work, Sam had been able to surmise as much from the handful of times the two had met, but the man was also high strung. Even now he looked frazzled as he organized some paper work, but he looked up with a smile when Sam stood before him.

"Mr. Genet, it's been a while," he greeted, extending his hand.

Returning the shake, Sam asked, "Has it been busy today?"

"Not more than usual. If you've come to see the chief she's in her office, you can go on in. Can I get you a coffee?"

"Thanks, I'm good," Sam called over his shoulder, already heading for the door at the back of the room.

While he opened the door directly he did knock on the frame before entering. Cameron, who was sitting behind her desk, instantly waved him in and motioned for him to sit. She smiled as though pleased to see him, but Sam didn't miss the sparkle of confusion in her eyes.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure? You rarely come all the way down here, did you miss me that much?" she teased infuriatingly.

Ignoring the jab Sam explained, not bothering to beat around the bush with his request, "I came to ask for a favor. The scroll that Cody gave me, I want to know what it is, but no one seems to have a clue. I know it has to be of some importance, though, so could you check some cases related to Soren? See if there was any mention of it. Or use some of your resources to track the history."

Bosa leaned back in the seat, knit her fingers together, and rested her chin on them as she contemplated his request. It wasn't long before she spoke. "I'll see what I can find, but in return I want you to do a favor for me too."

"Favor?"

"The past few weeks some vandals have been breaking into churches and stealing statues and art work then selling them off. I want you to track down the culprits and of course recover any of the stolen goods that you can."

"Why me?" he questioned.

Sam knew if she was asking it was not simply because she wanted to even things out. She knew, of course, that he hated being indebted to others, but that had never stopped her before. Besides, her officers could very well have handled a simple robbery case.

"Because there isn't much left that can be done," Bosa replied sweetly, once again infuriating him. "There were no witnesses or surveillance tapes and what little evidence was found wasn't anything to go by."

She slid a manila envelope across the desk to him, inside which held the case files, a list of the robbed churches, and an assortment of photos. Sam flipped through the contents, even as he asked, "If you did all you could then just let the insurance pay off the damage. Why make me get involved?"

"Because it's Christmas, Genet!" Bosa exclaimed, sounding as irritated with him as he was with her. "It would be a nice gift, besides it'd be excellent karma points with God," she continued tritely.

"That's two different religions," Sam replied distractedly as he replaced the contents back in the envelope. "I can't make any promises, but I'll look into it so long as you look into that scroll."

He made to leave, but Bosa held him back by asking, "I've been meaning to ask you, how has your recent situation been?"

Sam leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "If you mean Cody, he's fine I guess. He just finished his physiotherapy."

"No, I was actually referring to Hank Chogan."

"Oh. He's still staying with Joe Shayne, they seem to get along. So far, there hasn't been any problem."

Just then a knock came at the door and Jerry pocked his head in, looking quite upset over something and requesting to speak with Bosa urgently. Sam excused himself and stood to leave, but had only made it to the door before he was once more stopped.

"Genet, I think it was a good thing you did to volunteer your services in the case, but the fact won't change that he's a criminal. Don't forget that."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sam assured.

By the time he got out of the subway later that night the sky had turned pitch black. Thin clumps of hail swirled in the frigid winds like a glistening mist. Sam turned his collar up against the cold, lengthening his stride to get home sooner. The clumps still slipped through the protection and melted against his skin, wet trails ran down his back and chilled him. He growled low in his throat at the sensation; he hated the snow almost as much as he hated the rain.

He had decided earlier not to waste any time and begun running through the list of churches after he left the precinct. He hadn't expected to find much and had not been disappointed. The doors to the sanctuaries had been broken into directly in the middle of the night, only to be found the next morning. The evidence the police had managed to obtain consisted of a boot print from a common brand that had sold by the hundreds within the last month alone and a trail of candy wrappers that contained neither DNA nor fingerprints. His own search had yielded nothing new and after wasting his afternoon he looked forward to nothing more than sitting at home with a cup of coffee.

Even though it was eleven, he wasn't particularly surprised to find Cody curled up asleep on the sofa in the living room, while the credits of _A Christmas Carol_ flashed on the television. The teen had been trying to watch the movie for the past two weeks, but it kept playing late at night and he would always fall asleep before the end. Now as Sam stomped the last of the ice pellets from his boots and brushed at his coat Cody roused, sleepily rubbing at his eyes.

"Sam?" the teen mumbled through a yawn.

He rolled his eyes; it was on the tip of his tongue to reply sarcastically "who else", but he refrained. Since he had met Cody, the teen had been nothing but traumatized so he couldn't very well blame him when he craved reassurance.

"It's getting late, go to bed," he replied instead, turning off the television set.

"I'm watching the movie with the ghosts," Cody protested then catching sight of Sam for the first time bolted up in his seat, fully awake now. "Is it snowing?" he demanded.

"Just ice pellets. They melt as soon as they hit the ground, though."

Sam figured he was anxious for the changing weather, but that didn't explain the relief on the teens face at his words. Just as quickly, however, Cody was smiling once more, bouncing with pent up excitement.

"Guess what happened today," Cody enthused.

Tiered, Sam sunk onto the armrest and cast an annoyed look at the other. Mutely he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one up.

"Just tell me already. I hate playing games."

"I got a job bagging groceries at the shop in the square."

Sam sighed and blew out a puff of smoke. He could already feel the pressure of a building headache and longed for a shot of something strong. It was too late and his day had been too long for him to deal with this tonight.

At his silence Cody continued, "They said they were short on staff so I could start tomorrow. Eight hour shifts five days a week, at eight dollars an hour."

Applying pressure to the bridge of his nose, Sam demanded, "Do you do this to annoy me or are you really this stupid?"

He caught Cody's crestfallen look as he replied, "What? Why?"

"You've damaged your wrists to near uselessness so now that you've finally finished physiotherapy you decide to take on a job that'll put nothing but pressure on them?"

Sam watched as Cody suddenly pulled his legs to his chest. He wasn't too concerned with his comment being hurtful; it was common sense after all. However, he did feel a pang of regret at Cody's next words.

"What else am I suppose to do?" Cody hugged his legs tighter, his words muffled in his knees. "I don't have any experience with anything or qualifications and they were willing to hire me on the spot."

"You're just getting out of recovery and the doctor's been telling you to take it easy," Sam barked. "I'll give you money for whatever you want, just wait a few more months then I'll help you find a decent job."

Cody didn't reply, nor did he give any form of acknowledgement. Sam couldn't even begin to guess at what was going through his mind, but clearly this was something the teen had his heart set on. He didn't approve by any means, but Cody was old enough to make his own decisions, if he wanted to do this than so-be-it. It wasn't as though Sam was his father.

With a sigh he grudgingly conceded, "Just don't overdue it."

Tentatively the teen lifted his head, a sparkle in his eyes and a small smile on his lips. He looked like such a naïve child. Getting up, Sam ruffled his hair as he passed on his way to the stairs.

"Get to bed," he called over his shoulder, already hearing the scramble of footsteps following him.


	5. Chapter 5

G.K. - Gyokumen Koushou (I originally forgot to name her, but my sister tells me I should just leave her name as initials since it sounds good for a bad guy. Just assume that's her first name and I never give her a second)

Dr. Neil - Dr. Ni Jianyi

**Chapter 5: I'll Taste Their Defeat. I'll Give In This Once**

The black Mercedes pulled up into the paved circular driveway before the sprawling two story house. The place looked nice enough; clean white stone, large windows, and a well kept lawn, but within its four walls a dark nature was bred. Karl took in the sight with distain as he exited the car.

_God, how I hate this place._ The feeling had started so long ago it was hard to determine when his regard had changed for his childhood home. He would never have come back had he not been summoned. Karl supposed he could have ignored the request, but it would serve him no purpose and would undoubtedly have caused trouble he'd just as soon not bring upon himself.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" Dom asked, as he came to stand beside him.

"Just go get Yana and Lee. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to," Karl replied over his shoulder as he started for the door.

Behind him he heard Dom head off for the back door where he knew he'd find the two girls. Karl appreciated his presence, especially for these situations. Since Dom had come to work for him a few years back, Karl had found he'd gained more than an employee. True Dom was a hard worker, loyal and devoted to the job, which was essential for a bodyguard, but he was also a companion Karl could both talk to and rely on. Between Dom and Yana, the two were the closest things to friends that Karl had. They posed a rather rag-tag group, but they were his to protect, which was why he needed to do this now.

The house was empty when he entered, but that didn't concern him. He knew where he could find G.K. She enjoyed power plays and nothing seemed to present a better visual, in her mind, than lounging in his father's study as though she were holding court. Karl had never felt threatened by her, only greatly annoyed and put out. His earlier feelings of hatred only deepened at seeing her that way now.

"What is it," he demanded right away, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary.

"Now is that any way to talk to me?" G.K. responded; her tone high and mighty as she continued to file her nails. "You should be here anyway, taking care of business. Your father would be so disappointed that you aren't taking over in his absence."

The comment was meant to rile, but it didn't. Karl responded uncaringly, "He should be grateful I'm even doing as much, look at where it got him."

G.K. slammed her palms down on the desk before her and, with all traces of nonchalance abandoned, hissed, "Watch your mouth you insolent boy! Your father used to own this miserable city."

"'Used to' being the operative words in that sentence," Karl retorted. Then losing patience he demanded, "Why did you call me here?"

"I want to know why it's taking so long to get these scriptures," G.K. finally replied coldly.

"It's not as though there's a directory for them and with the last one destroyed it'll take a while to find another," Karl explained with as much patience as he could muster.

"Just tell me when you have them," she demanded unnecessarily. "For every minute you waste prancing around our your father is stuck wasting away in that prison. In fact maybe I'll motivate you along. I want the girl back here next week – and you can leave your hound at home. She won't be needed."

Karl clenched his jaw to and ground out, "Leave Lee out of this, she has nothing to do with it."

"She's my insurance. You step one foot out of line and she'll be floating in the pier faster than you can blink. After all there's no sense in me threatening you with your bar – it can always be replaced, but I hear lives on the other hand are precious."

"You bitch!" Karl spat at her satisfied smirk, slamming his palms down on the desk. "She's your daughter."

"But not my priority," G.K. yelled back at him.

Behind them the door opened silently and footsteps padded closer, muffled by the carpeting. The sound was distinct in the silence left by the growing volume of their conversation. Karl turned to see a man he had never met before enter the room. Quite average in height and build, the man seemed to emanate a refined and unkept look at the same time. His dark suit was well fitted and proper, but the man held himself lazily and his hair was a ruffled mess. Most striking thing about him, however, was the dark look in his eyes, shadowed behind rimless glasses.

"It seems I'm interrupting," he commented, sounding as though he didn't care either way.

"Dr. Neil, not at all, in fact you're right on time," G.K. welcomed, her anger once more mollified.

"And you must be Karl. You're exactly the way I pictured you," the stranger addressed Karl, not moving from the doorway.

"Dr. Neil already lined up a deal, so once I have the collection of scriptures I can buy your father's freedom," G.K. explained.

"So is that it then," Karl questioned through gritted teeth, his palms clenching at the thought that he was aiding in his father's release, as he turned back toward the desk.

"My so impatient, you'd think you had somewhere more important to be," G.K. sneered, her mood now placated with the presence of the doctor.

"When I find the scrolls I'll let you know. In the mean time stop wasting my time with these useless meetings," Karl gritted out and without waiting for a response or dismissal turned to leave the room, brushing past the stranger that still had yet to move from the doorway.

Behind him he heard G.K. call after him, "Have her ready for Saturday, I'll have my own men go fetch her." Then in a louder voice she called out to him before he could get any further down the hall, "Don't forget our deal, when I get what I want then I'll give you what you want."

Karl fought to calm himself back down as he walked to the front entrance. Once outside the cool air brushed against his heated skin like a splash of cold water, which effectively soothed over his frustration. Dom and the girls were already waiting by the car when he reached them. Lee instantly ran up to him and locked her arms around his waist childishly.

"Damn Karl, I hate having to come back here. Why can't I just stay with you all the time?" she whined.

_I have to do this. I need to protect them at all cost. _

The agreement was simple: he got the scrolls and G.K. relinquished all guardianship rights of Lee to him. She would stop seeing Lee, stop having her every move tracked, and finally end Lee's involvement in the mob ties. By extension he would also then finally be able to break his own ties to that life and properly protect them all.

* * *

This was a disgrace, an absolute disgrace. Reduced to hiding out in a decrepit catacomb, surrounded by the overwhelming stench of must and mold. The cement walls were damp, the room drafty, but at least they could be assured that no one would come looking for them. Despite its flaws, the hideout was safe. The center of one of the rooms had been cleared with a large thrown seat placed in the center. Candles littered the area around the floor, forming pools of wax at the bases and casting the space in a flickering orange glow. It was the only light, but it was adequate.

The occupants of the space were few; save for himself there were only three others at the moment. The two men he had hired just that afternoon still hung around. They sat off to the side and whatever they entertained themselves with was no concern of his. The little whore he brought to entertain him now cowered off in the corner, her whimpers a constant background noise. She had been pretty with softly angular features in a delicate face. However, she had struggled and consequently needed to be punished, resulting in her noise being broken on top of the bruises that now littered her face. She was of no use to him now and he would get ride of her soon. Even just the site of her was offensive, but no matter. He had other business to distract himself with.

Looking down at the photos he had accumulated over the past few days alone, he inwardly sneered. Such a happy bunch, but little did they know of the surprise in store for his little toy. He had planned just the thing to stir up his perfect, calm, little world. It had not been easy. While a simple shot to head could have sufficed this would be so much more gratifying, and it was this thought alone that had acted as encouragement all this time.

Now all his hard work would finally pay off. Everything had gone just as planned and finally his patient surveillance was ending and the time to act beginning. As for his toy, one by one the layers of his complacency would be peeled away as one by one the things most precious to him would fall. The dark entities brewing deep in Hank Chogan's mind, unbeknownst even to himself, would be made to surface until he couldn't contain them and would go mad with their unleashing. Slowly…slowly the plan would unfold and take with it the enemy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: There Words Tattooed In His Veins**

Waking up with a hangover was becoming sickeningly habitual. Joe turned over with a low groan, his head throbbing painfully and his mouth feeling like dry sandpaper. He was thankful the day was overcast and he didn't need to worry about bright light, although even the muted morning was unwelcome. Things had never felt this bad before and he felt like he was hitting rock bottom. His life was swiftly spinning out of control and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

The other night Dom had come to the bar again. Had sat there for hours and Joe had been forced to ignore that entire side in order to avoid him. It wasn't only that Dom was pushing him to talk when he didn't want to, but his presence had been disturbing him in other ways. For weeks now Joe had been keeping himself busy with late nights and getting smashed because otherwise nightmares of his past would surface. Even feeling as shitty as he was now, he'd still spent the greater part of the night tossing and turning, reliving his youth.

FLASHBACK

Joe hovered close to his mother as she prepared supper, but was careful to keep out of her way. It was the first time in over a week that she had spent any significant amount of time outside her bedroom. It would have been a good sign, but she was moving around as though on autopilot. Whenever she got like that it was always hard to determine her mood and what her possible actions would be. Dom always told him to keep away from their mother whenever he could, but he was anxious to help and make her feel better.

He spotted the dishes waiting on the counter and saw an opportunity to be of service. He went to set the table, placing the four glasses on top of the plates so he could do the job faster. The glasses didn't quite fit on the ceramic dish and wobbled precariously, but the distance to the table was short. He had almost made it when his foot snagged on something he hadn't seen and one of the glasses tipped from the plate stack, smashing in large chunks on the floor. His mother screamed at the noise and swirled around to cast him a dark look.

"I'm sorry," Joe quickly whimpered, hurrying to deposit his load on the table before he bent to pick up the shards.

At the commotion, however, his father came from his bedroom and was furious when he saw that something had been broken. Tears pricked behind Joe's eyes now as he doubled his efforts to clean the mess. It didn't matter, though, as his father stalked over and grabbed his arm to yank him to his feet, sending all the shards he'd collected back to the floor. Joe cried out at both the rough handling and as a sliver sliced his palm, once more whimpering his apology.

"You useless little brat," his father hissed.

"I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry. Please…"

Deaf to his plea his father pushed him towards the table. Joe caught himself on the edge, but before he had a chance to move he felt his father's leather belt snap across his back. He cried out, the tears now slipping freely, before managing to muffle the rest of his mournful wails in his arms. Even through his shirt, the leather bit into his flesh, each stroke harder than the last and raining down close together.

As the punishment continued he began to find it harder to support himself, until he thought he might collapse all together. He heard the swish of the strap, like all the others, and braced himself once more, but failed to feel the blow. Turning his head from the shelter of his arms he saw Dom beside him and sunk to his knees with a whimper.

Finally what Dom had been calling managed to reach him. "That's enough, just leave him alone now. It was an accident."

For whatever reason their father relented his attack, but still he yelled as Dom bent to help Joe. Neither brother listened, though. Dom cradle him in his arms as he carried him back to their room. Joe let out a cry as his bruised shoulders were pressed and buried his face in Dom's chest, fisting his shirt.

"It's okay, just hold on. You're such a good boy," Dom crooned softly.

He sat Joe on the bed before gently urging him onto his stomach. Joe once more buried his face, this time in the pillow, to muffle his crying. He hated to cry, especially in front of Dom. His cries only deepened, however, when his brother went to push his shirt up. The fabric seemed to stick to his back, pulling at the flesh as it was lifted.

"Damn, he broke the skin," Dom mumbled.

When the shirt had been gently removed Dom dabbed at the heated area with a cold wash cloth. While it stung, Joe knew that, that was nothing compared to what the pain would be when his brother insisted on disinfecting the area.

END FLASHBACK

Joe was pulled from his latest dream as the sound of running water from the kitchen woke him up. The noise was quiet, but even the softness of Hank washing dishes was irksome enough to aggravate his headache. With another groan he turned to his side, hugging his pillow tightly to him, but it was useless. Instead he pushed the covers from himself and grabbed some clothes that had been lying around before making his way to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth helped relieve the dry scratchiness of his throat.

Hank looked to be just finishing off rinsing out the coffee pot when Joe came into the room, sleepily pulling on a sweat top. He barely made it to a chair before collapsing back down. He was still tired and, even though it was already ten, he was not use to being up so early. Usually on his days off, if he didn't spend the night at a girl's house, he wouldn't be seen before noon. Of course that went hand in hand with staying out till all hours of the night, usually drinking and playing poker.

"The coffee finished, but I can make you some before I take off," Hank offered, drying his hands off in a dish towel before refolding it.

Joe didn't want to feel so useless, nor did he want a maid so he shook his head at the question. "I'll make some myself."

He didn't move right away, however, as the memory of his youth was still vivid in his mind and he didn't want to be around anyone while in a kitchen, at least until he was fully awake. As a way to avoid the awkwardness of his feelings he questioned rhetorically since he knew the answer, "You going to see Cody?"

"He asked me to go to the Mall with him," Hank explained. "Want to come? The change of pace will be nice don't you think?"

Joe rubbed at his eyes and shook his head again. He didn't want to be around anyone.

"Well try to get out today then," Hank suggested, moving to the door. "You don't look so well and the fresh air might do you good."

Even though it was the middle of the week and before noon no less, the Mall was bursting with life. A few people in work suits looked as though they had taken an early lunch to run from store to store for presents. In the middle of the action, in the center of the mall, a plywood workshop had been built framing a large thrown chair where an elderly man played quite the believable Santa. Full time mothers cradled and comforted tearful toddlers or tried to calm anxious children as they waited in line to sit on the jolly man's lap. Cody took in the entire scene with wide-eyed fascination. Everything from the bustle to the decorations attracted him, but he was on a mission this afternoon. He walked from one window to the next waiting for something to catch his eye, but nothing did.

After a few minutes of useless wandering Hank finally asked, "Was there something in particular you were hoping to find?"

Cody sighed. "I need a present for Sam. I want something that'll be really nice and something he can use every day."

"What about a coffee mug?" Hank suggested helpfully.

Cody thought about it, but shook his head. "That feels impersonal."

He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, only that he wanted something special and something that would adequately express his thanks for everything that Sam had done for him. Considering they lived together it was irksome that Cody knew so little about what he might like. Finding gifts for both Hank and Joe hadn't been nearly as difficult.

As time passed his excitement diminished until noon found him as dejected as ever. Hank had helped as best he could and while the things he had pointed out had been good they just didn't strike Cody as the perfect item. Now as they sat in the food court staring out the large dome windows Hank questioned him to try and better gage what Cody had in mind, but it was no use.

Eventually he gave up and with a heavy sigh of defeat a silence fell between them until Hank commented some time later, "Hum, looks like it might snow."

Cody's head shot up at the off-handed prediction before he swung his gaze back to the window. He critically assessed the dark storm clouds that had not been quite so bad that morning. A shiver ran through him and his fingers began to shake with anxious anticipation. He'd been so preoccupied with the search for a present that the weather had escaped his notice all together, but it consumed his full attention now.

Unable to stop the words from forming Cody finally blurted out abruptly, "Can we go home now." He tried to diminish the impact of the bluntness with a quivering smile and explained, "I don't think I'll find what I want today and if it snows…the roads might get bad."

Hank hadn't looked convinced at his reasoning, but had not objected. The ride, while fairly short, was tense and neither spoke much till they reached the house. Sam had yet to return when they arrived so Cody grabbed his comforter and curled up in it on the living room sofa to wait for him. It was this way that Sam found him hours later, strung just as tightly as he had been that afternoon with Hank. However, perhaps because he'd been caught that way so many times, Sam didn't bother questioning him about his behavior. He merely flipped on the overhead lights before moving into the kitchen.

"Do you need a ride tonight?" Sam called back to him, causing Cody to jump.

He wasn't going anywhere, but…

"Huh?" Cody responded, burrowing deeper in his blanket encasement.

"Do you need a ride to work?" Sam repeated with a hint of annoyance.

_Oh damn I forgot about that._

"Y-yeah, please," Cody responded after a minute. Deciding that he couldn't very well call in sick on his first night.

Eight o'clock came all too soon, forcing him to leave Sam's side for a half empty grocery store. Stationed at the front by the checkouts, bagging groceries, gave him the opportunity to study the progression on the weather through the semi painted window panes. It was almost closing time when he noted the first signs of a soft snowfall.

FLASHBACK

His skin felt tight, is thighs stung every time they brushed his jeans, and his fingers were so stiff and red he couldn't even bawl them into fists. It had been so painful when he tried that he thought a second attempt might break them off. The jacket he had managed to pick up at a thrift shop wasn't meant for winter. It had a little stuffing, which was better than what he had the year before, but it wasn't meant to be water proof and had long since soaked through with the snow.

At this point all he wanted was to curl up in bed. His apartment may have still been drafty, but at least it was protected from the weather and as dry and warm as he could afford. He broke into a run at the sight of the rundown complex, sighing in relief the moment he pushed into the front entrance. The room he rented was on the first floor, adjacent to the owners. The first impression Cody had, had of the man was that he was creepy, always seeming to stalk around with a lascivious look in his eyes. Then after the first few days his impression of the man had melded into one of fright. The landlord, although not very tall, was buff and from the times he'd grab the back of Cody's neck when talking to him, the teen knew he was strong. Coupled with the dark, slightly unhinged look in his eyes and Cody had enough incentive to stay far away.

Cody had just gotten his apartment unlocked and would have been safe, when the door behind him opened and a call caused him to jump. He turned to see the owner leaning in his doorway, a seedy smile contorting his features into something evil.

"Hey kid, rent's due," the owner called to him, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cody shivered, the wetness of his jacket seeping into his bones along with growing trepidation.

"I…" he cleared his throat when his voice came out hoarse. "I just paid you the other night."

The owner merely smirked. "Rent's gone up. You owe me another two hundred, but since it's Christmas I'll give you till tomorrow. If you can't come up with the cash maybe we can find another way for you to pay."

The look he gave Cody was one of open appraisal to his shivering body, which sent a nauseating feeling to the pit of his stomach. Cody quickly turned and locked himself in his apartment, breathing heavily at the fear that now coursed through him. He couldn't afford another two hundred, not that the place was even worth it. It hadn't even been worth the original price of rent, but he'd succumbed in order to be free of the snow.

Now Cody rushed around the small confines, tossing things haphazardly into his backpack. He'd put up with the owner's sleaziness for the past month, but now with the real threat of advances hanging over his head he didn't want to take the chance of staying there any longer. He peaked back out into the hallway; the owner's door was closed. Moving slowly, trying to avoid the creaking floorboards, Cody moved back out into the cold night. He ran down the sidewalk, his feet slipping in the thick snow, his lungs burning with the cold air, until he felt far enough away to be safe.

As he stood panting, he looked around at his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was. All around the snow shown like diamonds and caught in the glow of the streetlamps like a child's glitter blowing in the wind. It was everywhere. And it was cold.

He cursed himself for having left the apartment he had just paid for. The shelters were sure to be full now and he didn't even have money to get a motel room. Cody looked around desperately and caught sight of a subway sign across the street. Slowly he trudged over, his shoes dragging in the tracks of slush in the road. The cement encasement was no less cold, but just as his apartment would have been, it was at least safe from the snow and winds. In the far corner a small group of men huddled around a trashcan fire, but they didn't seem inclined to share. Cody wasn't really bothered by it and instead curled up in a corner on the closest bench catching the faintest wave of heat from the blaze. He didn't even bother pulling off his backpack; he simply closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

END FALSHBACK

When Cody came down for breakfast Sam was already at the table with a mug of coffee and the morning paper. By this time he would usually be locked in his study, refusing to be disturbed till sometime near lunch. In the past month the most time Cody had been able to spend with him came after Sam trashed the attic looking for something. It had taken the two of them almost three days to organize everything again. It made Cody regret that he'd be leaving for the afternoon.

He eyed Sam contemplatively as he grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat across the table from him. He tried to gage how easy it would be to get Sam to come with him and Hank to the Mall, even if Cody was looking for a present for him. Then he wondered if maybe it would just be easier to reschedule all together.

He didn't realize how long he had been staring till Sam demanded with a sigh, "Will you quite it already."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Dream Of Waking**

The night had grown a lot colder; the breeze catching on snowflakes to swirl them along the ground in little vortexes that were reminiscent of snow globes. The past few nights had all melded into the same routine, in which Joe took to the streets to find some solace from his dreams in the chill and calm solitude of walking. It was only during this time that he could let himself feel the true depths of his melancholy, preferring to put on a façade at work or home rather than let others see how he truly felt.

He glanced down at his watch noting that it was just past eleven. He was sure he could still find a card game at the club where he could regain some form of normalcy. Surprisingly he wasn't particularly in the mood, but he had nothing better to do. He wasn't use to actually taking the days off that he was owed, but given his mood and troubled nights he had been feeling weary.

Without much conscious thought he began walking in the direction of his work. It wasn't until he was half a block over that he became aware of a second set of footsteps tailing behind him. Joe turned to find a shadowed figured following him. The only thing he could make out of the other was a tall and broad outline, framed by a long trench coat.

"I'm glad I found you," a voice called out, which he recognized as being his brother's. "I stopped by the bar, but they said you weren't there," Dom explained.

"Yeah it's my night off," Joe responded when they faced each other under one of the streetlamps.

Dom sighed and Joe averted his gaze to the ground knowing what was coming.

"Just talk to me. Even just for a half hour so I can explain things, then I'll leave you alone."

Dom was looking tired and defeated again. Joe felt the same way. He decided it may be time to just give in. Perhaps hearing is brother out could give him some piece of mind so he could get rid of those memories.

"I know a place we can get a coffee," he mumbled looking back up.

For a moment Dom looked taken aback, as though he couldn't believe Joe had agreed, but then his face relaxed into a smile that seemed to draw further attention to the shadows under his eyes. Joe led them away from the club another few blocks to a 24/7 diner. The place was shabby, but fairly empty and in the back booth by the windows they were granted a bit of privacy. Neither spoke until coffee had been ordered and then still they waited until they were half through their first cups.

"Alright so talk," Joe mumbled petulantly, distracting himself by staking the milk goblets. "What are these words of wisdom that'll cause some revelation in me?"

_And make me forget that my life's been shit._

Dom sighed and put down his cup. "What's the point of even telling you? Even if I get you to listen you won't believe anything I say."

Joe balked at the comment and hissed through a clenched jaw, "You hound me down all this time just to tell me forget it when I finally say I'll listen. Well, screw you! Just put us both at peace and say whatever you have to for why they always beat the shit out of me, but never lay a finger on you. Give your excuses for why I was kicked out." Deflated in his anger now, Joe mumbled, "Just explain so I can go home and sleep."

Dom studied him intently and feeling uncomfortable under the appraisal, Joe averted his gaze down to the table and fidgeted with a sugar packet.

"Not everything happened the way you remember it," Dom informed.

"Yeah whatever," Joe sulked.

"It didn't," Dom pressed with vehemence. "You weren't the only one slapped around. Do you remember – you must have been about eight or nine – and you were helping to set the table when a glass broke? You were strapped bloody for it."

Joe sunk lower in the bench still not meeting his brother's gaze, but his voice had gain a hard edge. "Yeah I remember. And you stopped him, so what of it? You want a medal for –"

Joe was cut off when Dom snarled, "Will you fucking stop with the sarcasm you little shit! I'm trying to give you an example of when you weren't the only one hit." Calming down again Dom explained, "I tried to stop him sooner and he grabbed my wrist. He nearly broke it, he twisted so hard, but I finally managed to step in the way. To help you. That wasn't the only time either."

"He stopped after he hit you that once didn't he?" Joe asked rhetorically as he already knew the answer, but still he looked up to pierce his brother with his gaze more than his words. "That's how you got him to stop. You weren't beaten as much as me."

Dom sighed and got that tired look in his eyes again. "No, I wasn't."

"You weren't fucking kicked out either."

"I didn't know about that," Dom persisted. "I was only going to be gone for three days. Dad had just died so…" he sighed heavily before continuing hesitantly, "so I thought she'd…spend her time depressed. Crying. Whatever. You were older, so I figured you'd be fine if I left the two of you alone.

"I needed the job, Joe, or I never would have left. When I came back and found out what she did I looked for you. I called all the hotels and motels I could; I drove around looking for you…I did everything I could."

Joe wasn't sure if he wanted to believe what Dom was saying, but the beseeching look his brother gave him was too sincere to pretend any different. Still nothing changed and he felt no better now that they'd talked. He dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the table, and scrubbed his tiered eyes. He'd never get any peace at this rate.

"You were no fucking help," he mumbled through his hands.

"They're both gone now and everything is in the past, how much longer are you going to let them control you?" Dom asked matter-of-factly as he sipped his coffee.

Joe's head shot up, his eyes narrowing in anger, as he fired back, "Fuck you! No one controls me."

Dom couldn't quite hide his grin quickly enough behind his mug as he took another sip. "There's the little shit-head I know."

For the first time in ages, waking up in the morning felt refreshing. Not that he would admit as much to Dom, but their brief reminiscence the other night had helped ease the growing pain inside him. Joe hadn't realized just how fully he had been allowing his life to be led by his parents, even so long after their deaths. Even his desire not to love had been spurred by them and only now could he recognize that rather than being freeing, as he'd previously thought, it had been another form of restraint.

Of course, as far as restraints went love seemed to be the greatest. Since falling from his egocentric doldrums he'd managed to recognize that Hank was fairing no better than he had been; looking tired and distracted. It had only occurred to Joe that morning that the holidays might not be any more pleasant for his roommate.

_You're not the only one with scars to heal…_

Hank could feel Joe's eyes on him as he sat at the table, feeding Jeff pieces of sweet bread smeared with butter. It didn't bother him to be watched. It only served to remind him that lately everywhere he went there seemed to be eyes on him. Hank knew it could be nothing more than paranoia, but the feeling was still a persistent one.

"What's Cody doing here?" Joe asked quietly, taking a seat at the table beside Hank after serving himself coffee.

"Sam stopped by earlier and asked if he could hang out here since he'd be out working today. Guess Cody didn't want to be left alone."

Hank cast a glance back at the teen curled up on the sofa. Since being dropped off Cody had bundled in a thick duvet and had sat watching television. He'd not even wanted to move when Hank had suggested they try the strip mall on the far side of town for Sam's Christmas present. Hank had seen the teen scared and guarded before, but this seemed different. Cody had no reason to be scared now and so the behavior worried Hank a bit.

Joe, however, seemed unbothered and commented off handedly, "Yeah he was the same way last year around this time. Maybe he hates the season too?"

"Maybe."

Hank disagreed, though; Cody had been nothing but enchanted with the season since stores had begun preparing in late November. It had to be something else, but he didn't want to pry. Having finished his coffee Joe relocated to the couch, teasingly shoving Cody, to get his attention, as he sat down. Only Joe, it seemed, had a childish nature similar enough to Cody's to drag the teen from his mood. It was not more than a minute before Cody had sprung up, once more full of spirit as the two wrestled over the remote, causing Hank to privately grin at their antics.

It took them a while to settle back down again, but once they did the afternoon paced by quietly. Cody seemed to relax as the day went on, but the tension came back to him when it came time to drive him to work. The snow was falling again, gathering in small mounds on the ground for a change.

"You okay?" Hank asked as they drove.

"I hate the snow," Cody mumbled, pulling his jacket closer around him. "So cold."

"I'll turn the heat up for you," Hank offered, turning the knob the full way, but it did nothing to lessen Cody's cringed position for the remainder of the ride.

Hank was still at a loss as to what he could do, or at the very least say, when Cody shuffled rather dejectedly into work. Driving away felt like he would be abandoning him and so Hank followed the teen inside under the pretence on picking up a few groceries while he was there. At least this way he would be able to keep watch over Cody for a few minutes and make sure that he settled into the shift before leaving him alone.

As he turned down one of the isles, Hank looked back at the cash where Cody was stationed bagging groceries. He wasn't aware of another turning from the isle until he accidentally ran straight into them, before stumbling back into a shelf of cereals. The stranger grunted at the impact and boxes scattered to the floor as they regained themselves.

"I'm so sorry," Hank quickly apologized, leaning down to clean the mess.

"Quite all right," the man responded.

Hank's gaze traveled up from the boots at eye level, along the black trench coat and to the sophisticated face of the stranger. A tense smile greeted him along with the narrowed look of assessing eyes. The man had a refined nature about him that reminded Hank of someone, although he couldn't place who. Trying to brush off the faint familiarity Hank straightened again and restacked the boxes on the shelf.

"Something have you distracted? Or someone perhaps?" the stranger asked, casting a pointed look past Hank's shoulder to Cody.

"He's a friend," Hank replied simply, feeling it would be rude to simply walk away. "He hasn't been…feeling well. I just want to make sure he's all right."

"Very considerate," the stranger continued with that same unpleasant smile. "Funny isn't it, how humans form such attachments with others to the point where their pain becomes our own."

"I suppose."

The comment left Hank feeling more unsettled than before and he was more than ready to move on and end the strange conversation. Something about the man made him terribly uncomfortable. Hank couldn't quite place whether it was the forced smile or the piercing gaze, or perhaps even that nostalgic feeling of remembrance, that made him feel more paranoid.

"Well, I'm sorry again. Excuse me," Hank apologized once more before moving past the stranger.

Neither said any more and when Hank looked back over his shoulder, once at the end of the isle, the stranger had gone.

There was still two hours left to his shift, but Cody was feeling weary and it didn't look as though the steady throng of people would ebb. He'd been forced to grit his teach as his wrists had begun screaming in pain each time he lifted another object or placed a full bag into the waiting carts. In the few seconds as his next customer's items were being rung up he was able to cradle his sore hand and noticed that his wrists were beginning to swell.

Sam had been right about the job, and while Cody would have liked nothing more at that point than to quit, pride simply didn't allow for that. This was his first real job and while it wasn't any move to a career path he still wanted to prove to himself as much as to everyone else that he was able to do this. He wasn't a quitter, but it was also more than that. He simply couldn't depend on Sam to help him with this. It wasn't right to use the other's money. Not to buy a Christmas present. If he did it would be as though Sam had bought the gift for himself. Cody wanted to get the other something through the effort of his own hard work.

"Cody," the voice of his manager snapped him from his thoughts, "I need you to stock shelves. Go with Taylor, he'll show you what to do and where everything is."

It took a significant amount of effort to hold down the groan that instantly rose to his lips, but Cody managed to force a smile and reply, "Sure. I'm on it."

He didn't like the basement storage as it brought back memories of his detainment at the hands of Soren. However, the nasty images it instilled were just as quickly wiped away as the painful ordeal of lugging boxes onto a trolley, then moving the items to their designated shelves, took prevalence over his thoughts. By the end of the night the pain had doubled along with the swelling and Cody knew he'd have a job hiding the fact from Sam.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: You Eclipsed By Me**

Trying to gain anymore information about the robberies from the churches seemed to be a useless endeavor and one which Sam did not want to pursue. Instead he'd turned his attention to the surrounding buildings. Most of the areas were fairly residential, but they still had businesses and convenient stores within close proximity. Every store, newsstand, and gas station in the city sold the candy from the wrapper found in several of the churches so there was no use trying to track down leads from that. However, now as Sam stood outside the last of the stops he intended to visit he noticed a grocery store with a small parking lot adjacent to the church. He didn't really expect anyone to have seen anything, but the parking lot had a camera pointing in the direction of the street, quite evidently displayed above the automatic doors.

Sam wasted no time in crossing the street and walking straight to the nearest empty cash. The young girl behind the counter smiled and offered her greeting.

"I want to see your manager," Sam asked brusquely.

The girl seemed taken aback, her smile faltering as she stammered, "Umm…yeah-yes of course. Right away sir."

She quickly walked to the offices to the right of the line of cashes and fetched a short round man. He looked to be middle aged, his hair starting to thin, but with a friendly manner that was ready to be used to sate his customer.

"What seems to be problem sir?" he asked with a smile.

Sam pulled out his badge to show the other as he explained, "I'm investigating the robbery of the church across the street and I'd like to know if that surveillance camera outside works."

"Yes," the man replied looking surprised for a moment before reigning in the emotion. "It keeps the kids from stealing our cart and from loitering. Especially with the holidays, kids have been going around vandalizing places and causing trouble. Around these parts you can't be too careful," he continued with a nervous chuckle.

"I'd like to see the tapes you have of four days ago if you don't mind."

In minutes the manager had Sam set up in a corner of the basement storage. He sat before the small television set fast-forwarding through the tape of the early hours of the robbery day as the stout man hovered over his shoulder. It was a bit of a nuisance really, but Sam said nothing as the man might be helping greatly.

"Our cameras don't show as far as the church," the man informed unnecessarily. "What makes you think you'll find your criminals?"

"It shows the sidewalk," Sam explained with a sigh. "There's only one and it's on this side of the street, so if they walked the tape might catch them before they cross over to the church."

If the group had taken a car then this would most likely have been a wasted effort since they could have simply pulled up in front of the church and there was no way for the cameras to catch that angle. He was willing to bet that they had walked, though, as the items robbed had all been light and portable. Even the pictures stolen had, had their frames dished within a block of the churches. There was, of course, also the possibility that they had walked on the shoulder of the road on the opposite side.

However, Sam was willing to bet they hadn't been that smart. Sure enough at sometime past three in the morning a group of three guys stumbled down the sidewalk drunkenly. They barely entered the corner of the frame before crossing the street in the direction of the church. Sam watched on further, but there were no others out that night and so he rewound the tape back to that point and paused so as to examine it more closely.

"Can I borrow this tape," Sam asked, standing to put his coat back on.

"Oh…of course," the manager replied surprised. He looked from the tape to Sam before questioning, "How do you know that's your group?"

"He's eating a chocolate bar," Sam mumbled distractedly, taping the glass where the stilled image of the ring leader of the three was holding the candy.

Sam ejected the tape and slipped it back into its case before leaving the store again. He knew there was still the possibility that this wasn't his group, but at least it gave him an image to work with. He already had his street informant on the lookout for any word of the missing objects.

Leaving the grocers Sam then made his way to the subway, planning on taking the tape into the station so the lab could get him a picture of the men. It wasn't a very clear image, a profile view at best, but it was something. It took a while for his request to go through, but within just under two hours he had a manila envelope with the printed stills. Sam had been close to leaving without having to run into Bosa when he saw her coming down the hall on his way from the lab. He could tell she wanted to talk by the way she bee-lined straight for him, so he halted his stride and lit a cigarette.

Sam wasn't inclined to talk himself and was stubborn enough that he could wait silently longer than anyone he knew. So he waited, blowing a stream of smoke from his lips, until Bosa asked, "How's my case coming along?"

"When I find something you'll know," Sam replied around his cigarette.

Bosa waited again, an eyebrow coked in question and Sam knew she wanted to know why he was there. He wasn't ready to share his information, however, nor was he in a mood to oblige so again he remained patiently silent. After a moment Bosa rolled her eyes and continued.

"Well I'm glad I've caught you, this saves me a trip. I've been doing some digging of my own and as agreed I think I found something that might help you in your own search. You'll want to speak to a man named Jim. Owns a shop in the Mile End district."

She handed over a slip of paper with an address.

"I've talked with every antique dealer and appraiser in town, it's no good," Sam clipped, although neither the name nor the address sounded familiar.

"Not that type of shop, besides he's a private collector. Just give him a try," Bosa insisted, unfazed, "what do you have to lose?"

_At this point it couldn't really hurt._

Sam pocketed the address and turned to leave without another word. The place Bosa mentioned was a couple of blocks over and given that he had the time, Sam decided to try his luck. While not terribly far, the snow was picking up and had begun falling in thick clumps, making the walk rather unpleasant. It was a relief to step into the shelter of the second hand shop, even with its infusion of incense, curry, and brace cleaner.

The place was small, really only a little hole in the wall, but there seemed to be order to the clutter, making it welcoming. A bell above the door had chimed his entry, but there was no one at the desk and no other way to get anyone's attention.

"Hello?" Sam called towards the beaded entry behind the front desk.

There was no immediate reply, but he knew there had to be someone in the place for it not to be locked. As Sam waited he turned back to the shelves and perused the strange collection. He couldn't understand why Bosa had sent him there. The items lacked anything along the lines of stationary, letters, books, or any other form of writing in the category the scroll would have fallen under. The only thing close to it came tucked away in a corner. A single shelf on an old desk lined with a handful of musty and decaying copies of titles that would sooner be thrown away then purchased.

Among them stood out a small copy of a review to a museum collection. Sam held little hope, but still he thumbed through it to see if he could find something useful in the black and white photos. Of course nothing came of it.

Just as Sam returned the book to the shelf with the intention of leaving, a voice called from behind him, "Find anything you like?"

Behind the desk now stood an elderly man, who Sam hadn't heard come up front. Despite his grey hair and numerous wrinkles the man still looked quite spry and had an air of youthfulness about him.

"Are you the owner?" Sam questioned as he approached the desk once more.

The man pulled an ashtray from bellow the counter and lit a cigarette. "That's right."

"You shouldn't leave the front of your store unattended for so long," Sam warned annoyed, "things can get stolen."

The man simply waved off his comment, however. "This junk is barely worth a care. Now my private collection I take better care of. Keep it close to my heart."

The elderly man seemed to finally look up at Sam and for a moment was taken aback before he smiled. "Well I'll be damned. If it isn't little Sam Genet – but of course you're all grown up now. Still, I'd recognize you anywhere."

"Have we met before?" Sam asked confused, searching his memory, but still not recognizing the other.

The owner chuckled softly to himself as if to chastise his own haste and explained, "We've never officially met. I'm Jim. Colton used to show me photos and talked about almost nothing else. My how you've grown."

"You knew my father?" Sam asked rhetorically, to which the man smiled in response.

It had been tiresome carrying the scroll around, so early on Sam had opted to take pictures of it instead. Now, as he slid them across the counter to the man, not only was he glad for the sense, but also that he always carried them with him.

"Can you tell me anything about this?"

As Jim studied the Polaroids another look of shock crossed his aged features. "How did you find out about this? Where did you get this?"

"I picked up a kid months ago who wanted to give this to my father. Now if you know anything about this scroll, please, I want you to tell me."

Jim rounded the desk and silently went to lock the front door, calling over his shoulder, "Let's talk in the back. I'll make some tea."

The back room turned out to be as cluttered as the front, but the center had been cleared to fit a small circular wooden table. Sam sat with strained patience as water was boiled on a hotplate then served in a mismatched tea set, all done in silence. He didn't want to push the old man, but after searching for so long he could barely stand the further procrastination.

"So where would you like to start?" Jim asked at length.

Sam had so many questions he couldn't even decide where to begin. What was the significance of the scrolls? Why did so many want it? Why had Colton had it?

"Just tell me what you know."

"That scroll as you call it is a scripture, one of five in fact," Jim began, getting up to retrieve a leather-bound notebook from a scarred and stained desk. "Legend has it that they were used by the gods in the creation of heaven and earth and can govern all aspects of life and evolution."

Once he'd flipped to the page he had been looking for, the one detailing the legend, Jim slid the book across to Sam before continuing, "Whoever obtained the scrolls would have the power to recreate heaven and earth and so they were divided amongst five chosen men who were entrusted with guarding them. It was also the duty of these protectors to appoint a successor."

"You have to be fucking with me," Sam barked in anger. "I'm supposed to believe a piece of paper can determine the fate of the world? My father would never have bought into that shit."

Jim chuckled at his frustration. "It's just a legend of course, but none the less its history should not be taken lightly," Jim explained, all calm serious now. "These artifacts are so old that much of the history has been lost or diluted, but it's precisely the age that makes them invaluable."

Feeling as though he were being schooled Sam tried to calm down again as he questioned, "So then, that's all they are? Expensive antiques." The news seemed so anticlimactic and yet he could wrap his head around the idea that his father was into investigating antiques better than he could around the idea of a secret society.

"There are those who would like to test just how much of that legend is true or not," Jim responded, taking a sip of tea. "A chance such as that must never be taken though. That warning's been passed down through the guardians as well."

"Were you a guardian?" Sam questioned next, the possibility just then occurring to him.

Jim smiled serenely, "No, I never had that honor. I came across mentions of the scroll during my work as a historian and was fortunate enough to cross paths with your father. I spent years compiling this book," he continued, tapping the leather bound notebook before them. "Not being a guardian myself I decided to dedicate myself to recording the history. This is the most complete record you'll find anywhere."

"But my father was a guardian then?"

Jim seemed to understand Sam's unvoiced deeper question and put down his cup as he replied, "I don't know how deeply your father believed in the legend, but he was passed the scroll and he took to guarding it seriously. He was devastated the day it was stolen from him."

"Why didn't he ever mention any of this?" Sam's inner turmoil was growing as it seemed his father truly hadn't thought he could trust him with any of this.

"I can only assume he didn't want you consumed with its search, but I know he wanted you to have it."

When Sam continued to look unconvinced Jim pressed the issue. "Your father often spoke of passing the scripture to you. His greatest concern was giving it to you too soon, before you had a chance to live your life free of its responsibility. When it was stolen he quite looked at it as you having lost an inheritance."

As they continued to discuss the formation of the guardians and the history Sam was able to piece together that by the Middle Ages most of the locations of the scrolls had vanished. The five guardians rarely met and none congregated together, but records had been kept, through other historians like Jim, of the descendents the scrolls were passed to. However, during both World Wars whatever records remained were all but lost, scrolls had been stolen, and it was only through the long lived tradition that whoever had managed to retain their scrolls was able to pass what they knew through word of mouth. Of course by this time most of what was known had long since been diluted, and the job of guardian had shifted from sacred to secular.

Through all this discussion, however, Sam still couldn't shake the hurt that came with knowing his father hadn't trusted to tell him any of this himself. His thoughts must have been easy to read because as he left Jim once more tried to sympathize, rationalizing that his father had wanted to tell him when he had the scroll to give him as well. Sam didn't buy it though.

When Sam returned home that night the place was quiet. Normally by this time Cody would be in front of the television, but instead a light shone from the kitchen. Following the soft glow into the room Sam caught Cody sitting at the kitchen table, trying unsuccessfully to hide an ice pack from his view. Sam's gaze darkened and narrowed. Even from where he stood he could see that the teen's wrists were swollen.

Cody gave a faltering smile. "How was your day?"

Sam ignored him and instead growled, "What the hell – I told you to take it easy!"

"No…it's fine," Cody mumbled, thrusting his hands under the table, out of view as well, and hunching his shoulders forward.

Sam tried to take a calming breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. He moved around the table to the freezer and took out the ice tray, dividing the cubes into two sandwich bags and crushing them before wrapping the bags in thin dish towels. He then carried the home made ice packs back to the table and guided Cody into resting his wrists on them.

"I don't care what this job means to you, you're quitting first thing tomorrow," he commanded, but was careful to keep his voice level.

"No I can't. You don't understand–" Cody began to argue, but Sam cut off the protest.

"They'll find someone else. Nothing's worth this you idiot."

Cody remained quiet after that, but Sam could see the resigned disappointment in his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

A.N. I'm so sorry for the long wait! Thanks to all the people who emails and reviewed, your encouragement has been awesome. Here's hoping for no more delays. Enjoy :)

**Chapter 9: Calling All Skeletons**

The same old dream haunted him through the night. The piercing scream that he tried to get to only to find himself restrained. In a panicked haze Hank had finally managed to wrench himself from sleep; panting and sweat-soaked with the covers coiled around him. Hard as he tried he couldn't shake off the lingering image of a lifeless Hannah, pale faced and with a necklace of blood.

After all the struggling he'd put up to keep the memories at bay they suddenly flowed freely now. Something about what the stranger from the grocery store had said to him seemed to strike the wrong cord. Perhaps because Hannah's pain wasn't merely a projection he'd placed on himself, but was in every way his pain as well. Where he was now – who he was now – was all thanks to the events of that night. He had died with her in so many ways.

Letting out a shattered breath Hank collapsed back down. He didn't think he'd be getting anymore sleep that night, but it was still terribly early and he didn't want to risk waking Joe just because he now found himself restless. He didn't have long to worry about his circumstances because no sooner had his head hit the pillow again when he already heard the soft pattering of footfalls approach his bed. Jeff gracefully jumped up, a soft whine both demanding attention and making sure that everything was fine.

Jeff always seemed to instinctively know when Hank needed comfort and this time was no exception. The surprisingly heavy weight of Jeff's front paws planted themselves on Hank's chest till he reached up to pet the soft head. Jeff had grown a lot since Hank had found the little runt behind a dumpster, but he still liked to think himself a kitten. Even now Jeff, unmindful of his heavy weight, insisted on sleeping on Hank's chest, curled close to his face. It didn't help matters either that every time Hank's hand stilled in its petting a cold wet nose would press and nudge further under his chin.

They remained that way through the early hours of morning till the pair was driven awake by hunger. Dragging his feet into the kitchen Hank was taken aback at the sight of Joe sitting at the table since he hadn't heard the other wake up. However, he wasn't too surprised since he'd been lost in thought and hadn't been paying attention either. Even if he had heard someone in the kitchen he was sure the sounds wouldn't have registered.

It was a little disappointing to be seen so disheveled. Having just come from staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Hank knew Joe must have been seeing the dark rims under his eyes and noting the paleness of his skin. Even reminding himself that Joe had seen him this way before and worse in the month that he had been taken care of after the accident did little to comfort. Hank had hoped that Joe would think he was beyond all that now. Still despite his appearance protesting different he forced up a smile and pretended nothing was wrong.

"Did you already eat or should I make something?" Hank asked, moving to the kitchen to get Jeff's food bowl.

"I already ate," Joe replied.

Hank could feel Joe's eyes trailing him and fought down his wariness, serving himself coffee. He leaned back against the sink and took a fortifying gulp before asking, "You're up early. Plans today?"

"Yeah I got some things to take care of before work," Joe replied. He paused before asking, "Wanna come with? We can grab some lunch after."

Since Hank had stopped the tutoring sessions to give Cody a break for the holidays he found he didn't know what to do with his time. His idle wandering was becoming a source of frustration, but he was not so desperate as to want to trample Joe's time.

He smiled gently and took another sip of coffee before straight-faced lying, "Thanks, but I've got plans of my own. Maybe another time."

Hank couldn't say he was really in the mood to go out, but Joe wouldn't be any the wiser if he spent the afternoon on the sofa with a book or not. At the very least he could also get some shopping done since there was only one more week till Christmas.

* * *

Walking in to the well lit, high end store was a bit disconcerting, making Joe feel like he was unwelcome as both a man with no idea as to what he was doing and as an inner city vagrant who didn't belong. A classical Christmas song floated from the speakers, everything seemed bright and polished, and first thing in the morning meant that few patrons accompanied him. He hesitated to step off the runner in the main entrance, knowing his boots would track mud onto the clean white tile, but not wanting to look like he was hesitating he shuffled his feet and took a step towards the nearest dinning room display.

The table had a nice dark stain and a clean cut, not much bigger than the rickety patio one he was using now. It fit four comfortably by the china settings on display and since it had four sturdy legs he wasn't sure what more to look for. As he reached to flip over the price tag he spotted a sales woman approaching, all business in a straight black squirt and crisp white blouse.

She offered a tight lipped smile as she greeted, "Is there anything I can help you with sir?"

Instinctively he wanted to brush her off, but he supposed a little insight would be helpful.

"I'm looking for a table and a sofa," he informed, not missing the instant change in attitude at the possibility of a nice commission. "Nothing too big, it's just for an apartment."

"Of course," she said, clasping her hands together before waving about the room. "Well we have a wonderful selection here and some Christmas sales you may want to take a look at. Did you have a style in mind?"

"Style…" Joe hesitated. Beyond actually buying the pieces he hadn't given the idea much thought.

"Of course." Tension was back in the sale woman's manner. "Did you want an oval table, circular, square, rectangular, glass, wooden, with a sectional, without? Do you even know how many people you would like it to sit?"

Having spent the last seven years with something he had pulled from a dumpster, he hadn't been aware that there were so many options to consider. Licking his suddenly dry lips, Joe felt even more out of his element, but he was determined to walk out of there with something. This wasn't a task he intended to drag on and while he didn't know what he was looking for exactly, he did know what he liked.

"I just want a table," he began, putting up a little attitude of his own in the face of the clear distain from the sales woman, "something sturdy and functional that requires little maintenance and that seats at least four people. You think you can show me something along those lines?"

For a moment she looked as though she wanted to fire back, but instead there was that tight lipped smile again and forced politeness as she moved to offer her first suggestion. He hadn't expected it to still be so difficult to make a choice, but finally he managed to settle on a rectangular table with a decent price. The design was clean and no frills, the chairs comfortable with a padded seating of cream suede and with high backs. Once he managed to assert that he didn't want any table settings, napkins, vases or the like they finally moved on to the sofas.

Making a decision in this area proved to be considerably easier. He tested the comfort in sitting and kept in mind that it might need to double as a bed at some point. Within another few minutes he had settled on a choice in this matter as well. The design was as no frills as the table, the back just bellow his shoulders, allowed for Joe to wrest his arms across comfortably. The suede fabric would match the kitchen chairs, but rather than going with cream again he picked a soft pea green, a perfect contrast in his opinion. The sales woman tried to discourage him on the color, but having made up his mind, Joe simply signed off on the purchase for the love seat and couch.

"When can I expect the delivery?" Joe asked, replacing his debit card, now figuratively lighter.

"Since we have the items in stock it shouldn't be a problem to get them to you this evening."

"And you'll pick up the old sofa?" Joe asked again to double check their agreement.

"It'll be disposed of for you sir," the sales woman confirmed.

"Perfect," Joe sighed softly in relief, surprised again at how long the affair had taken. "Nice doing business with you."

Despite the fact that his morning had been spent in the store, he still had a few hours before work when he caught the bus back into the inner city. He had practically just stepped from the bus, having gone no more than a few steps once reaching his stop, when a shoulder smashed against his own, throwing him sideways with the force. Although, Joe hadn't been close paying attention to where he was going, he hadn't been the one to knock into the guy – the asshole had without a doubt smashed into him purposefully. Despite the fact, Joe was ready to keep on, mumbling an apology over his shoulder in the spirit of the holiday.

"Hey dickhead, you think you can just walk away from me with that lame ass apology?" the stranger called after him, taunting as though ready to start a fight.

"The hell's your problem man?" Joe fired back.

He whirled around and caught the flash of a grin, which took him aback and stopped any further retaliation. The face didn't seem so strange after all. It had aged a bit, matured even, though it was littered with more silver than Joe remembered. Smiling back Joe met Brad in his enthusiasm as he approached him, gripping Joe's hand and thumping his back in a one-arm hug.

"Joe, Joe look at you! Almost a man," Brad greeted, stepping back.

"Fuck you, it's not like you're that much older," Joe shot back good naturedly. "Besides the way you dress no one could even tell the difference."

"You wish you could pull off such a look," Brad mumbled, pulling out a cigarette and seeming to take the time to look around while he lit up. Exhaling a billow of smoke he directed his gaze back at Joe and continued, "You got some time man? We'll grab a drink and catch up and shit."

Surprised at the offer Joe none the less accepted and lead the way down to a pub they use to frequent often enough. Brad's erratic comings and goings had ceased to come as a surprise, as had the easy way in which he merged back into Joe's life. When Joe had landed the job as a waiter after his mother kicked him out, it had been Brad who had taken him under his wing and they had grown close in the few months they worked together. Even though, Brad had not held the job long they partied at the clubs often enough to keep in touch and had briefly shared a place. Brad had always been on the roguish side, however, and quite expectantly had fallen in with a group of street punks that had migrated out of the city, accounting for his infrequent visits.

They shared such similarities, especially in their upbringings, that despite the distance a bond had formed. Joe had appreciated the company when it was present, although he had never depended on it. It was the perfect sort of friendship really: closeness without oppression. When compared to his current companions, however, he began to reassess whether what Brad and he had was a real friendship at all. Perhaps it was better described as a protection. Traveling the streets together limited the chances for mugging or trouble, and Joe could at least depend that someone would eventually notice if he went missing.

Once they had settled at the bar and began in on their beers all thoughts of the like vanished from the foreground of his thoughts. They were as close as ever and spent the better part of an hour reminiscing on old times.

Clunking the beer down on the table with a drunken laugh Brad asked, "So what the hell is happening with Mindy? You still playing daddy to that kid of hers'?"

The question momentarily dampened his drunken buzz, but with another gulp Joe found he could push the feelings aside with little more than a twinge of regret over the memory.

"She moved out years ago man."

Brad raised his eyebrows, the light catching off the ring of metal, before putting his mug down and saying, "You're shitting me. The two of you were practically a fucken married couple. It made me sick."

Joe just shrugged, hiding his hesitation behind another sip, before finally replying with a vague amount of detachment, "Yeah well we weren't married and she moved back in with her ex. Whatever, I'm not ready for that level of commitment anyway. I'm not the type for it."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Brad said, his smile looking conspiratorial, perhaps even a touch sinister. But just as quickly it was replaced with the good-natured grin Joe was use to and after a survey of the place Brad leaned over the table and in a hushed voice continued, "The truth is I could use your help with a little project I have planned."

Joe leaned back in his seat; he had been expecting as much. Every since Brad had gotten involved with that gang of his it had been one problem after another. Rarely did he involve Joe in the matter, but that didn't mean the latter didn't still bend the rules of morality to help out his friend. Since getting the job as a bartender Joe had given up on any unethical business and wasn't really of the persuasion to change his mind on the matter, but given his long standing involvement with Brad he couldn't out rightly refuse either.

"What have you gotten yourself into," he questioned with a sigh, leaning forward again.

"It's nothing big," Brad waved off the question evasively. "So I made some bad bets and I owe a guy some money, this score will settle everything. It's a simple B and E job, but the buffoons I've got with me are so fucking useless. I need a guy I can trust at my side, like old times."

Although he'd never thought of it till that moment, Joe was sure that he didn't want things to be back like old times. He didn't consider himself as having settled down, but he wanted to be going somewhere. He found he had enough drama in his life to not need to purposely search out more. Just as he was about to voice his opinion of the fact he looked up and caught Brad's beseeching gaze. Newly assessing the pale tone of his skin and the dark rims under the eyes, lined with wrinkles of worry caused Joe to hesitate once more. Brad's tentative plea hammered the last nail into Joe's coffin of reluctance.

"My life is hanging on the line here, Joe. Just take a day or two and think about it, alright?"

Joe stiffly nodded into the pregnant pause, caught off guard with the situation. Their conversation afterwards felt forced in light of the unanswered question hanging over head, so after finishing off their drinks they split ways.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: It's Not Ended**

True to his word Sam drove Cody to the grocery store first thing the next morning with the instructions that he was to quit effective as of immediately. The task was daunting not only because his manager had been more than generous to hire him in the first place, but also because he wasn't sure he had made enough in just two days. Cody had, had Hank and Joe's presents picked out for weeks and he could now comfortably afford them, but could he get Sam something nice, useful, and symbolic of his appreciation with the remainder?

He worried his lower lip as they pulled up to the store front and he walked in alone. Even though Cody had been running through possible conversations he still didn't know what to say. Once ushered into the office and seated in front of the desk he figured it best to just come out directly and get this done quickly.

"I really appreciate the opportunity you gave me with this job and I hate to just leave you now, but I'm sorry I have to quit."

The manager leaned back in her chair not bothering to hide the look of shock that crossed her features at his words. "Well…this is sudden. Did something happen? Did someone – "

Cody quickly shook his head, avoiding eye contact as he interrupted to explain, "I was…in an accident a while ago and my wrists were injured so I can't keep doing the job because it's making them worse."

"I see," the manager mumbled tapping out a rhythmic beat against the desk with her pen. "I can't offer you another position, I don't need anymore cashiers."

"That's all right, I understand," Cody smiled in gratitude at even being granted the consideration of being kept on.

The entire affair had taken no time at all as it was less than five minutes before Cody was walking back out again. His pay now rested in a red envelop, which he clutched in both hands as he marveled at his first honest part-time pay.

"Can we go to the Mall today?" Cody asked the moment he got back in the car.

He caught Sam grin from the corner of his vision. "Anxious to spend your pay?"

"Yeah…sort of."

The heavy weight that had settled on him these past few weeks now felt lifted as he stared at his red wrapped prize.

Sam had not been able to come, but Lee had been anxious to get out of the house so Yana had been the one to drive them to the mall. Cody didn't mind so much since he knew that the detective was anxious about following his lead with the scroll. They hadn't talked much the night before because Sam had been mad with him, but Cody had managed to gather that he'd met a guy with some information. He hoped it proved to be useful because Sam was becoming obsessed with his search. The most time they'd spent together since Cody had gotten better was when they cleaned the attic together after Sam had destroyed the place with one of his searches.

In any case, Cody hadn't had a chance to spend much time with Lee lately, either. Between him going to hospitals and her having to spend time at her mom's place they could rarely find time to do anything. Hanging out with the guys was fun, but sometimes Lee did things they wouldn't. Such as convince him to take a photo on Santa's lap just so they could get candy canes and feather rimmed pens.

They had pulled off Santa's hat and toyed with his outfit, and danced with the elves around the thrown. But Cody drew the line at pulling off the man's beard. He didn't care that the mothers lulling around, waiting for their child's turn, frowned disapprovingly at their fun, but the children in line were laughing and he didn't want to ruin the Santa Clause experience for them. So in the end they got two instant pictures snapped, took their treats, and moved on, Yana gently chastising as they went.

They were still laughing at the shots when they passed through the food court a few minutes later and Cody caught sight of a familiar figure. Sitting alone at the edge of the crowd was Hank, a paper coffee cup in hand and the remnants of a muffin on the table before him. He seemed lost in thought and didn't hear when Cody called out to him or look up until the teen was sitting before him.

"Can I finish that," Cody asked, popping a piece of muffin in his mouth with a smile, finally breaking the other's trance.

"Cody!" Hank turned to him with a start before smiling and sliding the paper bag closer to him. "Back here again. Did you convince Sam to come?"

"Nope, I'm with Yana and Lee today," Cody explained, brushing the crumbs from his fingers as the other two approached the table.

"Mr. Chogan it's nice to see you again," Yana said in greeting.

"Nice seeing you too, but please call me Hank."

She smiled with a nod, before the two fell into their usual pleasantries, having gotten to know each other when Yana would come by Karl's house during the time Hank had taken care of Cody. They'd often stood outside for hours at a time talking over the fence or in the front yard. Cody had sometimes been able to hear the low burr of their voices through his bedroom window.

"Are you Christmas shopping too," Cody finally got a chance to ask when a lull fell in their conversation. He and Lee had been forced to sit and wait while they chatted on.

Hank chuckled and nudged the bags sitting under the table with his foot before replying, "Just finished, and have you found what you've been looking for?"

Cody shook his head solemnly, but he still held hope that he'd find something that day.

"Well let's go then shall we? We can talk while you shop," Hank offered, standing and gathering the scraps of his garbage and the two shopping bags he refused to let Cody peek in.

"Come on Cody, I know a good place. I always find something for Karl there. Maybe you can get Sam a tie…or some funky socks," Lee told him, leading the way once they moved back into the throng of people.

"He doesn't even wear ties," Cody mumbled. Lee's suggestions had been the worst of anyone's.

They walked for several minutes more, Cody and Lee walking up front while Yana and Hank trailed a few steps behind them. Down another hall a glint of light reflecting off metal from the corner of his eyes and caught Cody's attention. It caused him to do a double take. Beside him was a display window decorated with fake snow and hanging bobbles of green and gold, lazily spinning on silver ribbon ties. Centered in the case were an assortment of metal lighters as well as cigar and cigarette cases. Cody turned to the group to call out his find, but lost track of them in the crowd. Turning back to the case once more he smiled, knowing he'd found just what he had been looking for.

_Sam will love these, I just know it._

He quickly made a mental note of the store's name before merging back in with the sea of people and scanning the faces for one of his friends. He had not seen or expected the hand that shot out and wrapped around his mouth and torso, yanking him back into a dark and narrow corridor behind a service door. Adrenaline quickly pumped through Cody's veins and he struggled to break free of the rough, restraining hold, even as the man's partner closed the door with an echoing slam and smirked back at him.

Cody was sure he didn't recognize the man, whom he guessed was a street thug given the greasy hair and black decaying teeth. He also had thinness sallow cheeks that came with poor nourishment, but sported lean muscles just the same. His eyes, dark and glinting dangerously with a touch of madness, seemed to demand that he not be taken lightly simply because of his looks. His partner felt bulkier – a solid sheet of muscle pressed to Cody's back. Other than the grimy sleeve around his middle Cody saw nothing else of the man.

He was not naïve enough to think they simply meant to rob him and was not foolish enough to want to invoke anger he was in no position to deflect. Just the same though, he kicked his legs and struggled to gain the freedom of his arms, shouting through the muffle of the salty palm, as they dragged him down the near consuming darkness of the corridor. The more he struggled the tighter the hold became and within seconds his restrainer began to curse and hiss threats. When Cody had almost gotten his arms free his second attacker seemed to decide he had, had enough.

"Just come along quietly you little bastard," he hissed in a smoker's rasp.

Cody's restrainer slid the palm from his mouth to cup his head on the side and released his arms to deliver a painful blow with his closed fist to the opposite cheek, all before the teen could do more than draw in breath for a scream. Cody's knees shook together at the blow, his vision instantly blackening. He had not been aware of passing out, however, until he woke up a few minutes later, with what felt like a bruised and swollen cheek pressed to cold, grimy, yellow stained tiles. His head throbbed painfully, but still Cody tried to shake off the lingering dizziness, moving to slide his arms and legs under him to get up. Instead he heard rattling and felt his arms get pulled back at the wrists.

Lifting his gaze off the floor Cody noted for the first time that he'd been cuffed around a rusted pipe that lead up to a pedestal sink. Twisting to the side Cody tried to judge the rest of his surroundings, but could only see an equally rusted and scum covered toilette to his direct right. The room didn't seem large; if he stretched his legs out the tips of his shoes could touch the back wall. Which could have explained why his attackers had left him there alone; there simply wasn't room for three. He could hear their faint talking from somewhere outside the door, though, so they couldn't have been too far away.

_No. Please no. I can't do this again._

Fighting back a whimper Cody dropped his head back down to the tiles. Long minutes seemed to pass as he lay as he was, sweat forming pools along his back and palms as he played through every worse case scenario he could image. The situation was all too familiar and he was about ready to resign himself to his imminent death…or whatever else they had in store for him.

_We both know little urchins like you aren't innocent…Did he have a penchant for sadism and you thought you were above that?_

The longer Cody lay on the floor the cold seeping into his exposed skin from the tainted ceramic the more he began to reevaluate the situation he found himself in. Initially his thoughts had wandered back to his kidnappings at the hands of Soren and his men, and he was reminded of the pain and hopelessness he had been forced to endure. The memory was still so clear that it had been effortless to slip back into the role of victim with its same level of desperateness. But as the time ticked by fear had grown into anger at the circumstances he once more found himself in, and he began to wonder when it was that he had become so pathetic. Cody knew he had once been able to hold his own against anyone, after all he had even outsmarted Soren's goons that first time he had escaped.

With these thoughts in mind his resolve began to strengthen, but still he lay prostrated on the ground unmoving. While for the most part the voices of his captors floated to him as a low burr with no distinguishable words, every now and then he caught snippets of the conversation.

"He didn't say what to do with him," one of the men commented to a question Cody had not heard. "Suppose we could take him to the Cave. God said he was looking for new whores and the kid can pass for younger. We mine as well put that pretty face of his to use and at the same time he'll be as good as disposed of."

The second part of the reply sounded much clearer as though the men were coming closer and it became quite clear to Cody that if he meant to be saved he would need to do it himself. He would also need to act soon as now he heard the approaching footsteps to match the voices. He quickly assessed what his assets were and was disappointed to realize the closest thing he had to a weapon was the feather rimmed pen he'd gotten from the Santa stand. It would do him no use, however, with his arms bound and unable to reach his pockets where the pen was presently located, pressed between his thigh and the floor. Even if he could reach it, though, it would still be no use with his hands cuffed as they were.

Cody craned his neck round, trying to see if there was anything in the room he could use, but he found nothing. Tuning his gaze to the rusted pipe he was attached to he found the chance he needed. At the lip where the pipe joined the floor the metal had rusted severely and flaked off easily at his touch. A surface crack had also formed giving Cody hope that the metal would be frail enough to break. With one ear listening for the men who had taken him, Cody struggled to get his feet under himself and pushed off the floor into an awkward kneeling position. More awkward maneuvering allowed him to sit up and while it made kicking difficult that was precisely what he had in mind.

He waited a moment, holding his breath to listen for voices, but the halls beyond his little confinement had gone silent once more. Balancing on the small of his back, it became clear to Cody that the best he could manage were short jabs or a steady pressure with the heal of his boot. He altered between the two and tried to push back on the pipe with his hands, finally earning a rusted creak echoing through the room. A shower of rust fell from the pipe, but it did not budge. Beyond Cody could hear the voices pick up again, arguing over who was to go check on him, but he tuned them out, too nervous to listen.

"Come on, come on," he whispered to himself and drew his foot back repeatedly to attack the pipe with the best of his effort till finally he heard the satisfied crack.

Footsteps stomped down the hall outside the door accompanied by cursed mutterings. Fumbling in his hurry now, Cody wedged the cuffs between the break in the pipe, forcing it through as though pushing a key onto a ring that was too small and tight. They had just popped free when the door to the bathroom was thrown open and with a gasp Cody scuttled back along the tile, away from the thinner man that pierced him in place with his crazed look.

"Just couldn't sit here quietly could ya," the man sneered, slowly approaching the teen. "Well luckily we just finished deciding on what to do with ya and it looks like I get to be the first to take the finders cut."

Cody kept his eyes silently narrowed on the man, his knees drawn up to his chest with his cuffed hands lying behind them and to his side. He was trying to be discreet as he reached to pull the pen from his pocket, but the man seemed perfectly focused on his eyes so Cody didn't break the contact. He waited patiently for the thug to approached, thumbing off the safety cap and tensing his muscles in preparation. In three steps the goon was kneeling before him, capturing Cody's chin between his grimy fingers as he ran a tongue over his severely chapped lips.

"Let's just test out what you can do huh," the goon whispered.

Cody clenched his teeth together as those sandpaper lips moved closer and he caught the scent of rancid breath before he lunged forward with the small weapon, aiming for the eyes. With a cry the goon fell back, a stream of blood oozing from the corner of his eye to his temple.

"You fucking little bastard!" The man screamed, dropping his grasp on Cody to cup his eye. "I'll fucking kill you!"

Wasting no time Cody scrambled to his feet, avoiding the hand that tried to grab him, and shot out of the room. He only paused long enough to note a door further down the hall open as the second captor came to see what was happening. He took off in the opposite direction not looking back to see if he was being chased, although from the screams that followed him he assumed he was or very soon would be. His path was determined by the hall, and while it was longer than he had anticipated, it was a straightforward line to the exit. In his hurry to finally reach the door Cody almost tripped and ended up half sliding on the dust back into the crowd of the mall.

He'd barely made it a handful of steps when a set of arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him to a halt. Cody kicked and screamed with all his might, intending to draw as much attention as possible, while faintly wondering how the men had managed to get in front of him. It wasn't until he saw a couple of security guards approach that Hank's voice finally managed to register through his fear.

"Cody, calm down!" Hank had been yelling, drawing him closer. "Where the hell have you been, we've been looking everywhere for you."

Hank brushed his hair aside, framing his face and looking at him closely as though to make sure he was really there. Breathing heavily Cody met his gaze, noting how pale Hank looked and still seeing the lurking fear in the older man's eyes. Cody pressed closer to his chest, looking around frantically to see if he was still being chased as he tried to explain, but all that came were gasping sobs. Before he broke down completely the officers ushered them both onto a cart and drove them to the security room.


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!

**Chapter 11: Easy Target  
**

Hank hung up the phone with a sigh, having finally reached Sam after countless attempts and turned back to watch Lee and Yana sitting with Cody. It was a comfort to know he would soon have the support of the detective. After they found Cody, the group had moved to the small security room, and it had been a few minutes before Cody calmed down enough to explain what happened. One of the mall security officers had cut the cuffs and provided them with coffees as the other alerted the police of the incident. They had been able to provide the authorities with a description of the suspects supplied by Cody, before the two mall cops had left them alone to go in search of the captors.

When they had found out Cody had gone missing Hank had tried to reign in his panic, but as minutes turned into an hour and then almost two without any sign of the teen, he had begun to think the worst. While it may not have been Soren who was behind the doing Hank was still thrown back to that time half a year ago. He also knew that Soren had not been the only one after the teen and had dreaded the possibility of such a thing happening to Cody again. Thinking all this had only caused Hank to recall the words of the stranger he'd met the other day at the grocers. _Funny isn't it, how humans form such attachments with others to the point where their pain becomes our own._

Try as he might Hank didn't know what to make of the situation. Meeting the stranger the day before seemed almost too coincidental now given what had happened, but the thugs hadn't mentioned anything about a scroll when Cody was in their custody. Nor could Hank recall where or even if he had seen the man before that night. All he could say for sure was that this whole incident left him with a strange feeling; one that was highly disconcerting. And to top off his torrent of thoughts he felt guilty for what happened. He was the one with Cody, he should have been more careful. He should have been watching the teen better.

Looking up to the group once more he caught Yana's eye. She smiled softly and nodded her head a bit in their direction, motioning for him to join them, but he shook his head against the offer. Even from where he stood across the room Hank could see the jagged scar running from the corner of Cody's eye from his brush with Soren, and on the same side was a mirror to the abuse - a bruise forming on his cheek from these other men. Hank didn't want his fears and guilt to implant on the teen when Cody was still so clearly shook up, and since he couldn't control his emotions Hank instead chose to keep his distance.

He moved back out of the room, merging into the flow of people making their way through the mall corridor. Everyone walked with their own determination, rushing from one store to the next, focused on their situations with no care to those around them. Hank had no destination, only intending to clear his mind. Pressing a hand to his middle, over the spot of his scar, he was reminded of that night so long along. It wasn't the usual memory either, of Hannah and the loft, but of the cold trek in the rain that at his best recollection still remained fuzzy in its details.

Turning down a side hall he began to circle back to the security room watching the activity around him with a critical eye, looking to see if anything was out of the ordinary. Hank didn't honestly expect to see the thugs still lingering, but as had haunted him for weeks, he felt as though someone were watching him. Now that he wasn't completely in his right mind he mused that perhaps it was god setting accusing eyes on him for all he had done that year, reminding him that he was a sinner. Hank silently smirked to himself, turning down that last hall to the security room and abandoned his thoughts when he spotted Sam Genet approach him.

"You alright," Sam questioned once they were side by side.

Hank offered a brief smile before replying evasively, "We're all just shook up I guess."

"Where is he?"

Sam didn't sound particularly concerned, but Hank rationalized that it could have been because he had already recounted the events to the detective over the phone and assured him that Cody was all right. Or perhaps Sam was concerned and simply hid it well. In either case the calm presence helped ease Hank's worries, relieving some of his guilt. Within their group he always tried to remain rational and in control and it was nice to pass off the torch for a change and wallow in his doubt. He was too young to feel this constant battering of guilt.

He led the way back into the security room and once more stood by to watch. Silently Sam approached the teen and took his chin in his hand, tilting his head to examine the bruised cheek. Cody submitted to the inspection, silently staring up at the detective, his large eyes still swimming with unshed tears.

"You okay?" Sam asked simply, dropping his gentle hold.

Mutely Cody nodded and Sam ruffled his hair, telling him to get whatever he had because they were leaving. Such a simple interaction and yet Hank felt as though he were being absolved for his negligence. As they stepped from the room and began to make their way from the building the words of the stranger from the grocers pulled annoyingly at Hank's thoughts again. His mind ached and he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, hating that he was beginning to hear an insinuation in the words which he wasn't even sure had first been there. Perhaps the stress and paranoia were taking their toll on him, and once he had a moment to relax it wouldn't sound as though the stranger had been pointing out his weaknesses.

Before they split up in the parking lot Cody placed a gentle hand against his arm and said, "Thank you for being there, Hank."

"Take care of yourself," Hank told him, briefly cupping his hand over Cody's. "I'll stop by to see you tomorrow."

Cody gave a small grin and nodded before ducking into the passenger seat of Sam's car. Hank could see the detective hesitate, looking as though he was debating saying something more and so he decided to save Sam the trouble by walking away. Hank offered a silent wave over his shoulder, but didn't look back to see if the pair had noticed. He crossed the parking lot back to his jeep, feeling as terrible as he did after a nasty therapy session and only wanting to unwind and put the day behind him.

The apartment was quiet when he arrived back home, but it didn't surprise him that Joe wasn't back. It was still early and he probably hadn't even gotten off work yet. Hank wasn't lonely, though, since Jeff greeted him instantly at the door crying his hello and voicing his upset over being left alone. He followed Hank so insistently through the house that the latter didn't have the heart to lock him out of the bathroom as he took a shower.

It was amusing at first, watching Jeff stretch up over the rim of the tub to paw at the curtain, but eventually the pest lay down and entertained himself by licking at the drops that slid past the edges. The warmth and steady beat of the water had the effect of summoning the relaxation Hank had been seeking. He leaned his head against the chilled tile, letting the water pore over his shoulders, easing the tension in his muscles, and ripple down his back like a soothing caress. It was surprisingly easy to clear his mind of his troubles, allowing thoughts to flow through him without focusing on any one in particular.

When the flow began to turn cold he quickly washed up and stepped out of the shower. As he dried off, Jeff rammed him with his head and nipped at his ankles until Hank managed to pull on his sweats. To appease the little terror he carried Jeff into the kitchen and opened a can of tuna for him, figuring the change from dry food would be enough of an apology. He debated making supper for a moment, but soon decided against it and settled instead on boiling water for tea.

Hank had just settled down on the sofa, prepared to spend the evening with the paperback he had chosen from the second hand copies collecting on the floor of his bedroom, when the doorbell rang. He would have thought it was a religious group; otherwise someone having mistaken the address, since really only Sam and Cody ever came over, but the person was quite insistent with that buzzer. The look of the lumberjack waiting when Hank opened the door was just as impatient. His eyes narrowed for a brief moment before he waved back at the two teens waiting by a truck. The warp of color along the side hinted at a company logo, but Hank couldn't make it out through the thick blanket of snow fall.

"We're here for a delivery and pick up," the lumberjack announced, pushing in to the apartment and brushing off the clumps of snow that clung to his broad shoulders and tangled in his beard. "Just sign at the bottom."

Speechless Hank grabbed for the clipboard thrust into his chest and watched as the teens wrestled in a table stacked with chairs, upside down and hanging off each side. Their cheeks were bright from the cold as were the tips of their fingers not covered in the gloves. Their movements were impatient, perhaps because of the chill, or maybe from the late hour that suggested that this might be their last round of the night. In either case they rushed to dump their load, not minding Jeff, who after almost being trampled had darted back down the hall to hide in Hank's room.

"Pick up," Hank mumbled confused, looking down at the paper he was meant to sign, "Of what?" The words had no sooner left his mouth when he spotted Joe's signature on the bill.

"This the sofa?" the lumberjack demanded as he watched the teens puff and struggle to bring in a loveseat next.

"Wha…" Hank looked up, still in a whirl. "Yes, but…"

He was promptly ignored again as the lumberjack moved in to push aside their present sofa to give the teens room to deposit the second one they were carrying in. Still not knowing what to say Hank moved aside and allowed the group to carry out the discarded item. When the lumberjack approached him one last time, impatiently telling him to sign already, Hank did so without any further protest. Then just as suddenly as they had appeared the group let themselves out again, closing the door behind them.

Standing in the aftermath of the overwhelming transaction, the room seemed suddenly too quiet and calm. A chill hung in the apartment from the opened door and so Hank distracted himself with retrieving his tea from the counter. It would serve to warm him now and not just calm him as he plopped down on one of the new sofas in an attempted to once more regain his evening. The protective plastic squeaked under his weight, but the seat wasn't uncomfortable. In fact the longer he sat sipping his tea the more he began to enjoy it over the older outdated model they had previously had.

It was several more minutes before Jeff dared peek out from the bedroom, slinking back to his abandoned food bowl. It was only a few minutes later, when Hank was on his second mug of tea and still too overwhelmed from his day to try and focus on reading, when Joe came home. The bartender seemed deep in his own thoughts when he came in the door, but his expression brightened at the sight of the new furniture.

"Good it came. What do you think of the styles I picked out?" Joe asked, toeing off his shoes and going into the kitchen to fix himself some instant coffee.

"There fine," Hank replied, "but it would have been nice to have a heads up. Those movers came barging in like a swat team." He hesitated a moment before adding, "You should have told me you wanted to buy furniture, I could have put in for the cost."

"No don't sweat it," Joe said, coming to sit beside him on the new sofa. "I've been meaning to get some new stuff for years I just never got around to the shopping."

"Oh," was all Hank to could think to say.

He didn't like how the old insecurities resurfaced, like he was a house guest in Joe's home as appose to an equal sharing room mate. He hadn't really though of it before, but Joe was a renowned bachelor and since they had moved in together Joe had refused to bring any girls home. Hank didn't mind if he did, but it clearly bothered his room mate to do so and he supposed he could understanding. Maybe it was time he looked for his own place, after all he had to try and maintain some sort of foundation for himself. Hannah was gone and he couldn't even image looking at another person the way he did her, but that didn't mean he needed to step over someone else's toes with his self-imposed celibacy.

"You okay, you look kind of sick?" Joe asked abruptly, breaking through his thoughts.

Hank wasn't quite ready to share his train of thought and so he grasped at his previous dilemma.

"I lost Cody in the mall today."

Joe cocked an eyebrow and through a grin responded, "He's a big boy, I'm sure he was fine."

Hank shook his head and settled his empty mug on the floor by his feet, not bothering to rise from his hunched position he braced his elbows on his knees to support his head. Talking about the event aloud suddenly made him feel exhausted and guilt ridden again. It was as though he needed reassurance again that he wasn't to blame; that he wasn't the bad guy.

His long restless nights seemed to have caught up to him in a rush and he scrubbed his hands over his eyes as he said, "I don't mean like that. Some thugs tried to kidnap him."

Amusement fled from Joe's manner and his voice was tinged with worry as he asked, "You mean like before? Like with Soren?"

"I don't know, Cody said they weren't connected to him. They didn't want the scroll, but they were definitely targeting him specifically."

"Damn."

They were both silent a moment, letting the information sink in, each playing through one horrifying possible conclusion after another. From the corner of his eye Hank saw Joe's worried expression as he clearly envisioned what Cody must have gone through. Hank knew the other must have been thinking of the two previous times he had found the teen after he had been attacked.

"Is he all right now?" Joe asked softly. "I mean he's not…"

The sentence was left unfinished, but Hank needed no further prompting. "He's fine. They didn't seem to hurt him too bad. God only knows what's going through his head though. He was pretty messed up after what happened with Soren." Hank pressed the bridge of his nose, fighting back the migraine that began to pulse in his temples and the back of his head. "Hopefully Sam will be able to calm him."

"Yeah," Joe mumbled in agreement.

A hollow pit began to build in his chest, spreading a cold emptiness through his body and numbing his thoughts. Idly he traced the parallel white scars along his wrist, wondering when he had become so self-centered as to get caught up in this black whole that pulled him towards depression and possibly even far back enough to taste suicide. Cody had been the one to get kidnapped and was probably terrorized at the moment and here he was self-pitying because he hadn't been involved in the decision of buying a sofa. He was pathetic; he knew it and despised the fact, but couldn't quite shake off the hollowness either.

Hank tried to stay awake a while longer, easing into awkward small talk, but soon enough even keeping up the strained conversation became too much and he decided to call a night on his miserable day. He only hesitated long enough to confirm that he would be visiting Sam and Cody in the morning and agreed to wake Joe up to come with him. The darkness of his bedroom was a comfort on his wary mind, but as every night past, once his head hit the pillow the nightmare loop of his past began to play. Restlessly he tossed in bed as his mind through him back in time till he was once more stumbling down a metal hall lined with a single row of dangling bulbs. Blood stained his hands and vengeance was like a parasite in his system, controlling his every action.


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N.** Sorry chapters are taking a while to post. School's keeping me busy so I don't have much time to write. Please R&R and Enjoy :)

**Chapter 12: Midnight Show  
**

On their way home from the mall that night Sam had decided they would pick up diner so neither of them would need to cook. After the events he had gone through Cody found he had no appetite and his cheek stung with every movement of his chewing, the pain settling in along with the bruise. Still Cody made a half-hearted attempt at a slice of pizza to please Sam and afterwards the detective insisted he put a salve on the mark, which smelled fiercely enough to make his eyes water.

The night was working out to be unpleasant and only seemed to grow worse when he stepped into the living room and was seized by the sight that greeted him outside the window. It was snowing - a heavy falling of thin flakes that blanketed the sky before ever settling on the ground. Cody knew that in that sort of snow everything got muted, footsteps vanishing before even leaving a mark. People disappeared in the streets even as you watched, like ghosts fading in the mist. The shelters would be packed, priority of beds given to young children and weathered seniors. If he made it to the soup kitchen on Pine and Crescent before nine he could be guaranteed a meal and could probably hang around for a few hours, but in the end he would need to seek shelter in an abandoned building or alley doorways.

_I'll have to find some old coffee grinds to clean off my hands or the oil will cause frostbit…_

Looking out the window Cody shivered until Sam stepped into the living room and brought him back to sense. The puzzled and silently questioning look of the detective reminded Cody that he didn't need to search for a shelter or worry about getting frostbitten. His meals were always guaranteed now and had it not been for the sickening smell of the salve he would have appeased his sudden hunger with another slice of pizza. The past few years hadn't even been that bad since he'd gotten off the streets by renting his own apartment; a small crummy hole in the wall, but sheltered just the same. He couldn't understand what had thrown his thoughts so far back in time.

"Let's talk," Sam said, taking his coffee to the sofa.

Hesitantly Cody pulled his gaze from the window and turned his back to the scene to perch beside Sam. It had been almost effortless for him to grow use to the luxuries of the house and after all they had been through Cody was sure Sam wasn't about to abandon him. Still the thought nagged at the back of his mind whether he should still worry that he might be tossed out. He hadn't thought about living in the streets since Sam had come to his ratty apartment and told him that he could move in.

"I don't want to talk about what happened," Cody said, knowing that in this case it wouldn't matter what he wanted.

Sure enough Sam disregarded his words and replied, "A Mall full of people, so why would they grab you?"

"They didn't mention anything about the scroll, only that someone wanted me out of the way."

"And the only people that want you out of the way are people that want the scroll," Sam mused to himself.

The entire affair made Cody feel uncomfortable again and he had no other information than what he had already relayed to Sam and Hank earlier. His discomfort, he was sure, must have been clear since, after asking one last time if Cody knew of anyone that would want him or the scroll, Sam suggested they put on the television. Cody eagerly took hold of the distraction and flipped through the stations for a Christmas special. He found that the closer to the holiday they got the more frequently movies and TV specials played.

Sam smirked when Cody finally chose a channel and mumbled, "I can't believe I'm paying for cable so you can watch basic television cartoons."

Cody cast him a glance from the corner of his vision, but Sam didn't look upset and he didn't complain further, so he figured his choice was all right. The two slowly eased into the evening, until all else was forgotten save for their sarcastic banter about the vintage traditions of the old cartoons. With a quiet smile Cody noted that Sam had relaxed as well, briefly lapsing into one of the rare moments when he actually acted his age. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, just how young the detective really was.

When they decided to call it a night early Cody's mind was free of the morning's trouble. He fell asleep easily, thinking about Sam's present and when he could next get the opportunity to purchase it. Soon, though, he began to toss in his sleep, his subconscious not fooled by the front he put up. The nightmares that followed were vicious and unsettling.

_The man that stood before him could scarcely be described as anything but a gorilla and his narrow gaze focused in on Cody with such intensity that he found he couldn't even look the stranger in the eyes. "So you're the Soren boy huh?"_

_"We can just cut it off. Imagine one of my knives, the cold blade slowly slicing inch by inch through skin and then muscle. The bone will be difficult. Hours of hacking and sawing…but then again maybe we should just snap it off. One quick chop!"_

Cody was jarred awake, a cold film of sweat gluing his clothes too tight for comfort and the nightmare images still playing on loop in his mind. As his stomach began to turn over he fought out from beneath the covers. The cool air instantly chilled his body and caused his already trembling limbs to shiver, but despite the weakness in his muscles he forced his legs to support him as he blindly felt his way along the hall to the bathroom. It was with a sense of relief that he collapsed to the tiled floor and hunched over the toilette.

His stomach reeled till his eyes burned and his throat felt raw, but still it seemed his intestines were determined to force themselves inside out. It felt like a blessing when a minute past and then two and not so much as a dry heave worked its way from him. Exhausted, he sunk to his side on the cold ceramic, gasping air into his pained chest and trying to calm his strained nerves. Waking up nauseas had been a regular occurrence for so long that it had become habit. There was nothing for it, but he was oh so tired of being sick. He had thought he was over the trauma of that time, but now all he could do was hope to expel the images – the past – from his memory long enough to get through the night.

Surprisingly it wasn't long before he fell back asleep, still lying on the bathroom floor, although he wasn't sure how long the rest had lasted. The next thing he knew the vision of Soren was tormenting his dreams once again. His heart began racing just as earlier, but he was spared from reliving the incident of his kidnappings and therefore didn't think he would be sick again. Still hot tears dampened his cheeks and he couldn't suppress the wracking sobs or stop his continued trembling. Desperate for comfort he pulled his legs up to his chest and pressed his face against his knees, making his universe as small as possible while rocking back and forth in rough jerks.

The movement was no comfort at all, though. It left him feeling alone and hollow and desperate for reassurance of something he couldn't name. Reassurance that he was safe maybe? That he had escaped the life of horror that used to consume him. That he wasn't dirty and tainted in every way imaginable on both body and soul. He longed for so much and yet expected nothing and the concept seemed too much to understand in his current fragile state, so he didn't try to analyze it any further.

_A little slut like you living out on the streets, you probably found a quick way to make a buck. Just spread your pretty little legs and you get the protection of one the most powerful men around huh?_

A mournful whimper reached his ears and it didn't escape his attention that the pitiful sound had come from him, succeeding in making him feel further degraded and embarrassed over his lack of strength. Then, as though feeling the first rays of the sun pierce through the darkness that was his mind, the warmth of Sam's memory steeled through him, calming his movements.

The detective radiated an aura of strength not restricted to the physical, which he envied. Just the thought of the other already made him feel more lighthearted and he found the strength to creep from the bathroom and back to his room. Quickly he stripped the bed of its comforter and pillow and, with both tucked under his arm, made his way to the second bedroom at the end of the hall. As quietly as he could, Cody pulled the door open just wide enough to slip through and tip-toed to the side of the bed. He couldn't see Sam's face, turned away from him and sheltered in the dark, but his breathing was deep and even in sleep. With a soft sigh he knelt down on the floor and began arranging the blanket.

* * *

Sam had woken up the moment the youth had crept in, but as he didn't seem to be leaving feigning sleep was pointless. He turned his head along the pillow and watched as Cody's shadowed figure tenderly placed the pillow he had brought at the top of his makeshift bed. Sam supposed he should have expected something of this nature after what had happened.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

At his words Cody jumped and whirled around to seek out his gaze in the dark.

"I…I thought you were sleeping. I had a nightmare so…I'm sorry I'll leave," he mumbled in explanation, but rather than making to leave he continued to kneel as he was, gaze lowered.

Sam sighed and pulled back the covers from the empty space on the bed beside him. Turning away again he said, "Hurry up and get in."

Cody didn't hesitate to jump into bed and curl up under the warmth of the blankets and so Sam added darkly, "Keep on your side. If you so much as touch me I'll kill you."

"Okay," was the quiet acknowledgment as the teen shifted to find a comfortable spot, hugging the far end of the bed.

The room quickly fell silent again, but Sam knew the other wasn't sleeping. The tension that radiated from the youth was quite distinct and he knew he would find no rest either till Cody was calm. Still he forced his eyes closed and tried desperately to capture what now seemed elusive.

Eventually through the darkness came a whisper. "Sam?"

"Shut up and go to sleep," he grumbled.

There was another moment of silence.

"I'm not a whore," the desperate whisper begged to be believed. "It isn't easy you know – living out on the streets in the cold and being so hungry you'll eat out of dumpsters. You do what you have to. I'm dirty no matter what so when someone comes up and offers you money…but it's not like a girl – you can't just spread your legs."

Cody's voice grew more frantic which each word; more anxious. _What the hell did those bastards do to him?_

Quickly Sam stopped the rant with soft, gentle words. "I never thought of you as a whore or dirty, Cody. We all know you did what you had to and no one blames you for it."

A deep, shuddering sigh escaped the youth and his tension eased at the understanding. Silent tears began to fall along Cody's cheeks, but they didn't last long because in another few minutes he was asleep.

The persistent ringing of the phone pulled Sam reluctantly from sleep. There were only two people who would call him so early in the morning: his informant or Bosa. The last thing he needed was to start his day with nagging as to whether or not he was making any progress with the case, but nor could he pass up the opportunity for an update should it be the former on the line. Blindly he fumbled for his nightstand and grunted into the receiver in place of a reply.

"Detective, I just got word that one of your men's been spotted," his informant, Dan said without any preamble.

"Where?" Sam demanded, vaguely thinking it strange that someone would be at a pawn shop so early in the morning.

"Not sure," Dan replied, but quickly explained, "guy said he stopped by last night and recognizing one of the faces from the photo. He couldn't get the guy to stay so he sent him to another joint instead. I'll stake it out today and wait for him to show then I can follow him back to his place, maybe get a tag on the others."

"Call me as soon as you have anything," Sam said before ending the conversation.

He was wide awake now, and when he pushed up from the bed he noticed with a bit of a surprise that so was Cody. The teen still hugged his end of the bed, but he was turned onto his side and studied Sam with a disconcerting silence. The detective wondered if his confession last night was cause for the weirdness and he debated telling him again that his past didn't matter anymore. But then Cody grinned sheepishly and rubbed at his eyes, looking less troubled then Sam had seen him in weeks.

"I'm starved," Cody announced, bouncing out of bed with enough energy to make Sam feel like an old man. "Let's make eggs okay?"

When they made their way down to the kitchen Sam realized that it wasn't as early as he had first assumed. He figured given the drama of the night before they were entitled to sleep in a little. In any case it appeared that the extra sleep had worked miracles on his young charge as there didn't seem to be any lingering melancholy in Cody while he danced around turning fried eggs into scrambled ones. The meal was saved when Hank and Joe came over and the former took over the cooking.

Unlike Cody, Sam noted that Hank looked as worn-out as he had the day before. In fact the look had been progressively worsening for weeks now and he was beginning to consider commenting. However, when Hank sat down with the last plate of eggs and toast he decided to hold his tongue till a later time. Sam knew he had been through a lot recently and didn't dismiss the possibility that the holidays were taking their toll. Yesterday's events had certainly been no help either.

"We finally all have a day off," Joe announced, "so what's the plan?"

"I want to go to the mall," Cody replied offhandedly, not looking up from his plate.

Slowly Sam lowered his mug from his lips, studying the teen just as Hank and Joe were. He saw that the other two were ready to protest the decision, and while he didn't understand either what this was about he knew it would be better for Cody to face whatever he needed to. The longer he hesitated the harder it would be to do in the end and whether this was to prove something to himself or not, developing a fear of public places wasn't something Sam intended to encourage. It was difficult enough to break Cody of the anxiety in the first place, going through it a second time was not an option.

"Well leave after breakfast," he announced before either of the other two could say anything.

The other two turned their questioning glances to Sam, but one look from him kept them quite. He kept a close eye on Cody, though, but saw no signs of hesitation or uncertainty while they finished their meal or while getting ready afterwards. The first sign he had of doubt was when they left the house and made their way down the drive to Hank's jeep. When Cody fell behind them Sam turned to call for him and saw him staring at the ground, but just as quickly the teen smiled and ran to catch up. Sam took a moment to try and see what Cody had been look at, but only saw the four pairs of footprints they had left in the snow remaining from the storm of the other night.


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N. So I know I fail at life, but I'm ready to start posting again** **(editing might periodically continue but nothing major should change)**. **I told you I'd never abandon a story, which is why it was never marked as discontinued! Enjoy :D**

**Chapter 13: Keep 'Em Coming**

The whistle of the kettle sounded in the stillness of the shop, piercing through Jim's work consumed thoughts as he scrolled through a new collection of _Incunabula_ from circa 1491, searching for authenticity. He sighed at the disruption, but with no one to blame but himself he snuffed his cigarette on the edge of the glass ashtray and cast a quick glance at the desolate entrance before moving to the back room. Although he was anxious to return to his task, having almost decided that he would put the collection back on auction, he still lingered in the back room, seeping a cup of tea.

The day had been wearing on tiredly with no activity on the street let alone in the shop. It had given him plenty of opportunity for contemplation, but having settled his affairs in the early hours of the morning the time allotted now only had him replaying the weight of his decisions between thoughts of recent events.

It had been quite a surprise to finally meet Colton Genet's son; he didn't think he would have ever gotten the chance. The boy was just as impertinent as he'd heard tell, but he also saw similarities to Colton himself and therefore held faith in the boy. He hadn't been expecting to be the one to teach him about the scriptures either and it lay heavy on his heart whether he was able to get through to Sam or not. After everything Colton had done to retrieve the artifact for the boy it would be a shame to have Colton's character now taken into question. Still Jim had seen in Sam's eyes the hurt and doubt the other tried to mask from him. It was hard to say whether the boy would let his bruised pride blind his judgment.

The bells from above the main entrance chimed announcing visitors to the store. Jim took a last sip of tea before shutting off the hot plate and slowly ambling back to the front counter. Three gentlemen waited for him, all with serious expressions and dressed in perfectly pressed suits as though they meant business. Even the casual elements implanted into their look did not detract from their corporate feel.

"What can I do for you boys?" Jim questioned pleasantly, plucking another cigarette from the carton he had left on the counter and lit up.

The ring leader of the group brought his palms up to the counter, idly tracing the spine of one of the books that rested there.

"I'm in the market for a book – a history compilation to be exact," the stranger replied coolly, looking up from beneath dark bangs. "My sources tell me you're just the person to see."

The smile the stranger cast him held a sinister note, but Jim didn't let it bother him as he settled onto the stool behind the desk.

"You look to me like a man who knows exactly what he wants so why don't you tell me what that is," Jim said.

A peal of laughter preceded another smile before the stranger replied, "You think you have me pegged do you? Well, let's see how accommodating you'll be to directness then. I want the location of all five scriptures and don't play ignorant since I already know you have the history on the whole affair."

Calmly Jim took another drag, slowly letting it float from his lungs. "I tracked the history, I have no reason to deny that, but what makes you think I'll hand over my life's work to a punk like you?"

It took only a nod of order for the two flanking men to instantly draw a matching set of firearms and to cock back the hammers. They squarely aimed the glinting black metal at Jim, just waiting for the second nod that would allow them to shoot.

"I'm sure I can find a way to persuade you," the stranger drawled, his teeth flashing in that sinister grin once more.

* * *

There was no hesitation from Cody, being back at the mall where he had just been attacked the day before. He moved through the crowds with as much festive excitement and anxious purpose as any other shopper. He had also been adamant about shopping alone, a fact Sam figured may have bothered him had Joe not insisted on being the boy's shadow. As it was, he had no problem staking out a corner of the food court to contemplate all the events of the last few days over a cup of coffee.

Between searching for Bosa's church thieves and conducting his own investigation into the scrolls – or scriptures he supposed he should start calling them now that Jim had clarified the point – he felt as though he had not had a moment to catch his breath. He could only hope his informant could catch the trail on the thieves quickly so he could at least get that behind him. He wasn't sure how much hope he really held on the matter, though, because it seemed lately that with every step toward normal any member of their small group took they were dragged two steps back into hell. He only needed to look across the table at Hank for proof of that.

Hank seemed to be scanning the area as though looking for something, but when he caught Sam watching him he brushed the hair from his face and offered a passive grin. He stared back down at his coffee and twisted his shoulders as though attempting to physically shake off a feeling. Sam had originally thought Hank's melancholy mood had been caused by the stress of the holiday, but his behavior was beginning to hint otherwise.

Sam barely had time to muse over possibilities of what Hank wasn't telling him when the other asked, "How was Cody when you brought him home the other night? I'm surprised he wanted to come back here so soon."

Rather than directly answering the question Sam commented, "Looks like he's not the only one who had a rough night."

Startled, Hank looked up at him wide eyed before twisting his lips into a sardonic grin and rubbing a hand across his eyes. "I've been having nightmares about things that should stay dead and buried. I'm sure it'll pass soon enough."

"Nightmares? Like the old ones you used to have?"

"Not exactly," Hank supplied vaguely but offered no other information.

Inwardly Sam frowned, wondering what it would mean if old ghosts were being rehashed. _The fact won't change that he's a criminal. _He hadn't forgotten Bosa's words nor lost sight of his task when it came to watching Hank, but temporary insanity wasn't exactly a reoccurring illness. Could Hank be balancing that precariously on the precipice of another disaster?

Both were saved from forcing further conversation when Sam's cell began to ring. He expected his informant but shot a quick look at the caller ID anyway, surprised to find Bosa's cell phone number flashing at him from the display screen.

"What is it?" he asked, answering the call. Sam's body went instantly on alert, hearing the sound of the police sirens and the indistinct voices of a crowd within close range over the line, before Bosa even answered.

"You're going to want to get down here quickly," she answered, not even wasting time to tell him he should answer the phone less sharply. "There's been an _accident_ at Jim's shop and things don't look good." She put a sarcastic twist on the word accident that lead Sam to believe that whatever happened was anything but.

"I'm leaving right now. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

He snapped the phone shut again, not bothering with a good-bye. Already his mind was working out the bus schedule while almost simultaneously debating whether it would be to his benefit to just go home first and get his car.

He'd forgotten that Hank had been sitting right across from him, listening to his end of the conversation, until Hank questioned with a hint of concern, "What happened? Where are you going?"

"Police business," he replied quickly, having spotted Cody and Joe returning from their shopping.

"I've finally got everything," Cody declared proudly, bounding up to their table, "so let's blow this joint."

"What business," Hank pressed, ignoring the other two for the time being.

He really didn't have time to explain everything and so instead answered quickly, "A friend of my father's been in an accident. I'm going down to the scene now. Take Cody home and I'll call later when I have the full story."

"Sam is everything okay?" Cody asked, growing concern etching his features as the tension seemed to finally sink in on him, but Sam turned away without responding.

The bus ride was excruciating, but thankfully rather short. He got off two blocks from the scene and could hear the police sirens still wailing before the lights even came into view. The area around what use to be Jim's shop was tapped off; a healthy crowd gathered on the outskirts to see in on the ordered bustle of the officers. It seemed that the stores nestled on either side of Jim's had been caught in the crossfire of the explosion, resulting in the presence of two fire trucks and a news van.

Sam had no trouble spotting Bosa right away given she was in the center of the action demanding that the bloody noise be turned off in between firing out a series of directions to her subordinates.

"Where is he?" Sam demanded, crossing the tape and moving to stand beside Bosa.

She frowned for a moment, clearly peeved at being interrupted mid rant, but when she saw it had been Sam that has posed the question her look melted into one of cool professionalism. She quickly waved off the officers around her and beckoned Sam off to the side, out of sight of the news van and other onlookers.

"Paramedics rushed him off the scene right away. He was unconscious and they said his lungs were probably damaged from all the smoke inhalation." She paused for a minute, gauging his reaction before continuing. "Someone did a number on him Genet. I sent an officer with him in case he wakes up, but I think you need to prepare yourself for the worst."

Sam's only response for a moment was to clench his jaw as he absorbed the news. It wasn't that he expected to hear anything different, but he had certainly hoped. After coming so close to not only being able to discover information on the scroll but to also gain some insight on the secret life of his father he couldn't help but feel like the proverbial rug was being pulled out from under him.

They discussed any leads or witnesses for a quick moment before Sam left again, catching a taxi a block over to take him to the hospital. Jim was still in the intensive care unit, non-responsive, but the nurse on duty still let him in for five minutes to see him. It was a painful sight that shot straight to Sam's stomach to see the old man, ashen skin stained with darkening bruises and littered with probes and tubes. Not knowing what to focus on, Sam eventually just turned his attention to the heart rate monitor, listening to the beep, click, hisss of the respirator as he watched the numbers fluctuate within a five digit difference on the screen.

"He's not breathing on his own," a nurse informed him gently, coming to stand beside him and checking on the IV bags. "Right now the ventilator is supporting him, but he was without oxygen for a few minutes and it's possible that if he recovers he might suffer from brain damage. Also, right now his heart rate is unstable, which means he could be in danger of cardiac failure...a heart attack."

"I see," Sam mumbled back, nodding at the woman as she offered her sympathies and moved on to check the next patient.

He hadn't felt so useless since seeing Cody in the hospital and finally not able to bare the sentiment any longer he moved out of the cubicle and walked down the hall to the regular care waiting room. He had no sooner settled into one of the vinyl chairs when his cell phone went off. The other families in the room shot him disapproving glares, mumbling at his disrespect for hospital policy, but it really didn't bother him what they thought.

"I've finally got a lock on them Mr. Genet," came the instant reply of his informant. "Followed two of them to an apartment building. There's no sign of the third and it looks like they're settling for a while."

Sam knew it would serve no purpose to sit around waiting for news and so he had his informant relay the address as he began making his way to the elevators. Ending the call he immediately proceeded to ring the station and had Jerry send over a few officers to the same address he'd been given. His job was to find the criminals, not run headlong into an apartment with two potentially armed men. He probably would have done it anyway, though, if it hadn't been for the fact that the bus would be his only form of transportation back to the station and he couldn't very well take that with two criminal in tow.

As it was he needed to take the bus to the apartment complex and found that the officers had beat him there by almost ten minutes. The men, both in their mid-twenties with styles that suggested they'd be more inclined to vandalism and drugs than church thefts, had been apprehended. The apartment was in the process of being searched for any of the stolen items, but it wasn't anything that required Sam's attention so he opted to accept the ride one of the officers offered and followed them back to the station to listen in on the interrogations.

"Ask who put them up to this," Sam requested quietly to the officer as he passed, going to question the first of the guys.

The officer looked back questioningly at him, but it was the first thing he demanded of the thief when he walked into the room. The young man, for his part, looked a little nervous, bouncing his foot and darting his gaze about the room like he hoped to be saved.

"Man, I was just in it for some quick dough," the thief explained, his voice high with desperation and fear. Agitatedly he ran his hands through his hair, fisting his fingers in the greasy strands before letting go. "The two had it all planned. Said robbing churches was the easiest way to make a buck since they were so trusting and all. Damn it! I knew this was bad juju-"

His whiny rant was instantly silenced when the officer slammed his palms down on the table in frustration. "Who's the other member of your little group? Where can we find him?"

The thief bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes wild with the urge to answer and the fear of doing so. After a moment of weighing his choices he finally answered tentatively, "He said he had business, but I heard him talking on the phone a few nights ago and it sounded like he'd rung up some debts with the wrong people."

"Where can we find him?" the officer demanded again, clearly letting the other know that his patience was wearing thin.

"A motel six!" the thief instantly responded, shooting off the location an instant after.

Only to see the whole affair through to the end Sam accepted another ride from the officers to follow along on the second bust of the evening.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Behind Silence and Solitude**

Hank pulled up into Sam's driveway and reluctantly put the car in idle as he stared up at the dark walkway and lonely house. Cody had expressly asked to be taken back home even after both Joe and himself had invited him to come back to their apartment since there was no telling when Sam would be back. He might have felt more insistent except Cody really didn't seem bothered; not by the trip to the mall or at the prospect of spending the night alone.

_Just leave it be. If you start projecting your worries on him it'll just freak him out. Keep your paranoia to yourself. _

"Don't worry guys," Cody enthused, leaning between the seats, "I'm fine. I'll just wrap up my presents and watch some TV." Hesitantly he added, "I think Sam would like some company when he gets home…you know if something happens to his friend."

Hank nodded vaguely, trying to keep any memories that might arise at bay. "That's thoughtful of you."

Cody offered a last smile before dashing from the car and up the steps. Hank waited a few minutes longer, till Cody was safely inside and lights in the living room brightened through the curtains before he pulled back out and headed for home. With nothing to say, they drove in silence, each to their own thoughts, but neither was so distracted that they would have missed the stranger leaning beside their door, a flash of metal glinting from the beam of the headlights.

Cutting the engine, Hank hung back for a moment looking over to Joe to see if he had been expecting anyone. Joe at first only offered a shrug, but when they stepped from the car the bartender narrowed his eyes and walked straight for the silhouette. Hank followed two steps behind, politely silent as the man took a step into the porch light and clapped Joe on the shoulder in a version of a hug.

"What's going on?" Joe asked, unlocking the door and ushering the stranger into the house.

"I was in the area, thought we could talk," the man arched a pierced eyebrow in Hank's direction, following his every move as Hank hung his coat and moved to the kitchen.

He eyed the stranger back, briefly stereotyping that any man staring down his thirties and still dressing like he was a rebellious sixteen year old couldn't be going far in life. Not that it mattered to him as he broke eye contact to retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge and passed them out to the other two.

He jerked in surprise as the stranger cornered him against the counter and ran a finger along the three earrings in his left ear, commenting over his shoulder to Joe, "What are you doing with a suburbanite?"

"Lay off," Joe sighed, twisting open his bottle cap, "he's a city kid like us." After taking a gulp he continued, "Brad this is my roommate Hank, Hank my old friend Brad."

Normally Hank would have faked niceties, the motions practically bred into him, but he was too tired and pissed off to even try. He jerked away from Brad, regaining his boundaries of personal space, but covered up the move by getting Jeff a bowl of food.

Brad cocked his hip against the counter, an insufferable smirk marring his lips as he assessed Hank again, but finally he dropped his gaze to take an interest in his beer.

"You sure as hell don't look like a city boy. What area are you from?" Brad asked.

Hank ground his jaw tight. He wasn't sure what it was about the stranger that grated so badly on his nerves, but again he feigned politeness and replied curtly, "Morden Heights."

Brad's pierced eyebrow jerked up to his hairline. "Inner city even," he said and gave a low whistle, "what are your parents like?"

"Dead," Hank clipped with a humorless smile, "Just like the rest of my family. Now unless you want to comment further about how I don't match the apparent dress code for the city I'll leave you two alone to catch up."

Without waiting for a reaction Hank walked back to the entrance and pulled his coat back out. Brad, apparently just as immature as his style, couldn't seem to contain himself from responding however.

"A bitchy little thing aren't you?" Brad said. "No reason to feel jealous, I can take care of you better than this kid ever could."

"Try it and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Joe had never seen such a cold look in Hank's eyes before; it took him aback with both its intensity and being out of character. He hoped to break the tension by stepping between the two men, blocking Hank's view as he stopped him at the door, although it did little to help mask his anger with Brad's infuriating chuckles still clearly audible.

"You okay man?" Joe asked for lack of anything else to say. He thought to suggest the two of them leave or ask Hank to stay and have a drink with them, but he really didn't think that would go over well.

Hank sighed, his anger deflating, as he shook his head. "I'm just going to go for a ride…maybe to see Hannah. You two have fun. I'll be back in an hour."

Joe waited until he heard the car engine start before he turned back to sit at the table, Brad sobering as he took a seat across from him.

"You're such an ass," he felt the need to point out even though he knew Brad had only been playing.

The other offered a shrug and a sheepish grin, temporarily covering over any response by reaching into his pocket and pulling out a chocolate bar. When he looked back up his face was sallow and his eyes serious as he responded, "It's answer time. I owe this guy big and he wants me to cash in tonight," he brandished the half eaten treat in a nervous gesture as he spoke through a mouthful, "If you're still not sure then just come with me to meet the boys, we'll go over the plan for tonight and you can see for yourself what the job will be like."

Joe didn't miss any of the desperation in his voice and while he hadn't really given much consideration to Brad's plight or offer he knew his decision. He was just too damn soft for his own good.

"I'll help you out," he answered solemnly, "for old time's sake."

Brad sighed in relief, but the look of worry didn't leave his face as they finished their beers or as they began walking down to the motel where his men were hold up waiting to make their move. Joe never knew Brad to be so jittery; shaking like an addict in need of a fix, darting his eyes around the parking lot like he expected someone to be following them and ushering Joe into the room before him with unsteady hands. He knew something was instantly wrong, but still played along nonetheless, hoping to be proven wrong.

The room was sparse – a double bed, dresser, nightstand, and a door leading to a small bathroom – and occupied by two men. They didn't look like the type Brad usually associated with, bulky thuggish types with a look of purpose rather than wiry drug addictions with impulse control issues. The thugs seemed to stand at attention when they entered, Brad shying away and keeping close to the door.

_You fucking bastard…_

"This the guy?" one of the men asked, cracking his knuckles as he approached.

"What the hell is going on?" Joe growled, turning his own threatening look at Brad.

He barely recognized the man that stood before him. In an instant all the years they had known each other and all the time they spent apart seemed to be more significant and Joe realized they were both completely different people now. Strangers really.

"You don't understand Joe," Brad began, wringing his hands together before pulling out another chocolate bar from his pocket, "I owe this guy a lot and he's giving me a chance to –"

But Joe never heard the end of his excuse through the ringing in his ears that followed the punch that cracked across his jaw in a dirty hook that took him off guard. He hit the carpeted floor hard, burning his hands as he tried to break his fall. The other goon was on him in an instant, driving his heal into Joe's side before pinning his hands behind his back and cuffing them together. They no sooner dragged him to his feet then they went at his stomach in a series of blows that knocked him back to his knees with a painful gasp.

In the mess of the attack Brad managed to slip out without a word, but he hesitated in the parking lot, discarding his half eaten chocolate for the greater stimulation of a cigarette. From the shadows a figure emerged, taking on the silhouette of a man in a crisp suit and long coat. The figures footsteps were muffled with the padding of the snow so it wasn't until he spoke that Brad became aware of his presence.

"You've brought in the boy," the man observed unemotionally, although his words caused a jerk of surprise in Brad.

"Y-yes sir, your men have him now," Brad responded brushing his sweat slicked palms along the legs of his jeans. "I did just as you asked so we're even now right? My debt, it's…"

His words faltered off, but the man in the suit finished his sentence for him. "I'll consider your debt as good as settled."

Brad watched as the man moved back to the parking lot and slid into a black car. He watched as the car then disappeared down the street and still he stood in front of the motel, letting the snow cover his head and shoulders, the cold sinking into his skin as relief finally washed over him. The cigarette in his hand burned away, the ash falling into the snow at his feet, before he felt the nerve to move, casting one last glance at the door behind him before he left. He had just made it to the corner of the street when he heard the sirens ringing through the twilight.

* * *

It had been quite a long while since he had last come, but Hank still knew exactly where he'd find Hannah's grave marker. His legs moved through rows without his needing to consciously think of where he was going and took him straight to the snow mound beneath which lay his beloved. If he hadn't been sure of the spot from memory then he was sure he never would have found it in the darkness of early evening. There was no other sign to indicate its presence, buried from view as it was.

Uncaring of the snow or cold he dropped to his knees and dug through the white blanket, brushing it aside until his numb fingers found the cool smoothness of stone. Only then did he retrieve the small flower pot he had brought with him; red Christmas lilies, Hannah's favorite flower of the season. He knew it wouldn't survive long out in the cold, but he wanted her to have them just the same.

Dropping back on his haunches Hank remained prostrated before her grave, feeling the cataclysm of his emotions that had been building for weeks, perhaps even months. Rhythmically he traced the simple letters of her name trying to remember what it was like to feel the soft warmness of her touch. Her skin was a distant memory, however, as was her scent. Even her smile or the twinkle in her eyes was becoming faded.

Bawling his fists he pulled back and mumbled to himself, "This wasn't supposed to happen." Finding comfort in his desolate mood he spoke again. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be together."

Hank didn't hear the soft crunching of the snow behind or feel the presence of another watching him. He simply knelt silently for a while longer; building up the strength to return to his new life. Once chills began to wrack his body, however, he deemed that he had been sitting there long enough. Before he had a chance to stand up, though, a hand quickly fisted into his hair, pulling his head back as a hand pressed a cloth against his mouth and nose.

Hank drew in a breath to scream, trying to pull away, but that only resulted in the hand in his hair tightening as the anesthetic took effect, slowing his body, relaxing his muscles, until he couldn't keep himself up. Then as he couldn't keep his eyes open. He couldn't think. He blacked out.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Is your grave unscathed**

Joe groaned; his knees sliding up to his chest as the bastard above him took a step back. Each breath was becoming increasingly more painful and he was sure his ribs had been bruised if not broken. What bothered him the most, though, was lying on that damn dirty carpet. It was stained and kind of smelled and who knew how many Johns had jerked off on the exact spot he was laying in; not a stretch given that the place was nothing more than a sleazy spot on the road for prostitutes. It seemed just his luck, fucked over by an old friend and beaten to death in a whores trick spot.

He couldn't help the dark chuckle that burst from him in painful jabs, earning himself another boot to the face. He supposed the men just wanted to toy with him a bit, make him suffer, before feeding him a shot of metal and splattering his brains across the walls along with any other stains that lay hidden there. It wasn't that he wanted to die, but he didn't see a way out of his situation either.

_If I can't die in the arms of girl I might as well go out laughing. _

Fate seemed to have other plans for him; before the men could react to his amusement again the sounds of sirens blaring outside filtered into the room moments before the door burst open, emitting a handful of men in blue. It seemed his two captors weren't armed, or if they were their pieces weren't in arms reach. One tried to make a break for it, running for the bathroom as though he meant to jump from the window, but was instantly restrained, encouraging the other to go along quietly. As soon as the men had been cuffed and dragged from the room, someone approached Joe to free him of his own restraints.

"You're really fucking useless," a condescending voice said from above him as the cuffs were pulled off his raw wrists.

"Well if it isn't the great Detective Genet," Joe responded back, his voice dripping with distain and sarcasm. "Sorry we can't all be as perfect as you. I'd like to see how well you'd fucking do when cuffed and beaten."

"I'd never be stupid enough to get myself caught in the first place," Sam shot back.

Despite their banter Sam offered a hand down to him and Joe gratefully accepted it, pulling himself up and allowing the detective to lead him the two steps to sit on the edge of the bed. If nothing else at least he was off the ground.

"How'd you find me," Joe questioned, rubbing the back of his hand across his cheek to catch the trickle of blood before pressing gentle fingers to his busted lip, trying to gage how swollen it was.

The officers bustled around them, gathering evidence or whatever they thought they were doing, but Sam seemed to have no worries. He lazily pulled out his carton of cigarettes and lit one, passing it to Joe before pulling out another for himself.

"We weren't looking for you," Sam replied bluntly. "We caught another set of guys who said their partner was here."

They shared there cigarettes in silence before the paramedics finally came over, giving Joe a complete once over to assess all damage. It wasn't any worse then he had expected; bruised ribs and a colorful face. He was grateful not to have to go to the hospital and instead sat through them placing ointment on his wrists and bandaging them, slapping on a few butterfly Band-Aids to his cheekbone, then finally sending him off with an icepack to the bruising.

With Sam supporting half his weight they finally left the room well over an hour after the police's arrival. They both hesitated outside, taking a breath of fresh air; it had begun to snow thick flakes that stuck in their hair and eyelashes. Uncaring of the cold, Joe turned his face up to the darkening sky, smiling and just barely managing to suppress the laugh of relief that bubbled in his pained chest.

"Turned out to be one hell of a night huh?" he chuckled instead, resuming his labored stride to the police cruiser that would take them home.

"Seems to be the case," Sam grumbled back around another cigarette.

The sky was pitch-black by the time they pulled up to his apartment and the weather only emphasized his desire to drop into bed and end the night. Sam helped him up to the door, letting the cruiser take off as he said he would catch a cab. Joe's mind was selfishly on resting; he didn't care that the lights in the apartment were out even though it technically wasn't that late. He also didn't notice that Hank's jeep wasn't parked out front either.

It seemed Sam, however, had taken stock of all this and once they entered the apartment asked, "Where'd Hank go out to?"

Joe, finally pulled from his own reverie, turned back around and cast squinting eyes to the dark lot to scan for the jeep. He was almost surprised not to see it and mentally ran down the events of the evening before his unfortunate detaining.

"He said he was going out for an hour, but that was hours ago. He should have been back by now," Joe finally admitted, entering the apartment only to be tripped up by Jeff curling around his legs.

"Did he say where he was going?" Sam asked, following him into the living room.

"To see Hannah. I know he's been acting weird lately, but it didn't sound like a suicide quest so I figure he was going to the old house or cemetery or something."

Joe let out a small groan as he sunk down onto the sofa. He was a little ashamed with himself that he didn't even know if Hannah had been buried. This had been the first time that Hank had said he was going to see her and, despite the weird behavior of his room mate, Joe had had no reason to worry. He supposed he found it a little strange that Hank hadn't returned since he said he'd be back some three hours ago and he usually wasn't late – certainly never this late – when he gave a time he'd be back at. But then again, this was Hannah he was going to see.

"It's getting late though," Sam mused, echoing Joe's unvoiced feelings. "It's dark out and the cemetery should be closed."

_So she is buried then._

Both men kept silent, each wondering what it meant for Hank not to have returned, playing through scenarios and wondering if this was something to worry about. Joe was so use to worrying over Cody that transferring his paranoia to Hank wasn't a far stretch, but he didn't see how the latter could have someone trailing hi and planning out his death. Hank was too good natured to have enemies and too smart to get himself mixed up with the wrong people.

"This is ridiculous," Sam finally groused, breaking the silence. "I'm going home. Have him call me when he gets in."

Joe could see something unspoken in Sam's eyes, like a worry he wasn't voicing, but he didn't press; too afraid of what he would discover if he did.

"So you caught the bastard they were working for?" he asked rhetorically. "I can't believe that asshole, sticking my ass on the cutting board as payment for his fucking debt."

"You were being held hostage as payment?" Sam asked, coming to stand before him.

Joe nodded. "I don't know how killing me would have done anything, they still wouldn't have their money."

"Someone wanted you out of the way," Sam mused as though to himself then turned to leave. Over his shoulder he reminded, "Have Hank call me when he gets in."

* * *

Sam walked into the house and was instantly greeted by darkness and the voice of Alistair Sim claiming that his hallucination was nothing more than the result of something he had eaten. Once he stamped off the gathered snow from his boots before removing them and hung his coat in the front closet he made his way toward the sound of the television. As per usual, Cody was curled up on the sofa, swimming in a blanket with only his head showing, and his attention riveted on the screen as though this wasn't the fifth time he'd watched the beginning of the movie.

The teen seemed so enthralled that he didn't even notice Sam until the detective dropped down on the sofa beside him, making Cody jerk in surprise. In an instant, though, the wide-eyed shock melted away and Sam watched partially amused as Cody fought to untangle himself from the covers.

In a rush, his words stumbling over themselves mimicking his legs as the teen stumbled to the kitchen, Cody asked, "Would you like some coffee? How was your friend?"

It took Sam a second to realize he was referring to Jim. "They haven't called with an update on his condition," Sam answered vaguely, not wanting to think about what that meant.

Cody returned with a steaming cup of coffee and offered it to him; his eyes, now shadowed from the dim glow of the television, looked sincerely sympathetic. Sam ignored him and instead took the cup with an appreciative inhale of the coffee before taking a gulp. In contrast to the heavenly aroma the consistency of the drink was that of mud; the taste was that of something much darker. Trying to hold back a grimace, Sam forced down the questionable drink through dry heaves that threatened to bring it back up.

He cast a narrowed look at Cody, but the teen naively smiled back and gently pressed, "You've been gone a long time, was it a really serious accident your friend was in?"

"No," Sam answered, planning to again evade the questioning, "it was your idiot friend that wasted half my time."

"Huh?" Cody straightened in his seat, his eyes once more going wide.

"Joe got himself mixed up with some guys or something. Found him hostage at one of my busts." Sam sunk back into the sofa, closing his eyes, but anticipating Cody's next question he pressed on before the teen had a chance to voice anything, "He's fine, just a little bruised. Hank's the one that's gone missing now. Went to the cemetery and hasn't come back yet."

He had tried to sound nonchalant, but if the waves of tension he felt rolling off the teen were anything to go by he had not succeeded in relieving any worry. He could feel the sofa dip and sink as Cody shuffled around and repeatedly resettled himself.

"Um," Cody began hesitantly, his voice muffled and Sam could picture the teen with his chin leading against his drawn up knees – his pose a sure sign of uncertainty. "Maybe we should go look for him. You know he hasn't been feeling well lately and he's been acting strange…" Cody's voice trailed off at Sam's tired sigh, but then pressed on again, "Whenever we go out lately he's always looking around like he expects to see someone."

"You're imagining things," Sam growled, even while a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Joe had also mentioned Hank's acting strange and he had even noted Hank's wandering gaze himself. "Besides, the guy has no enemies."

Cody considered the statement for a moment. "Well what about the Dark Crows he wiped out?"

"You said it yourself, he wiped them out," Sam answered back tiredly.

"You know," Cody continued thoughtfully, "especially for gangs that rely on the support of street kids to act as foot soldiers they make it feel like they care. They take kids who are abused, from broken homes, or living on the street and they offer them a family."

"I'm aware of how they brainwash kids," Sam growled in frustration, taking the coffee cup to the kitchen to dump it out just so as to avoid the conversation. Cody, however, insisted on following him and so he continued, "I'm also aware that none of them have tried to revive the gang since there has been no activity in their name since the fires, which means what was left of them was probably absorbed into the surrounding competition in territorial wars."

Cody sat at the table as he watched Sam make a fresh pot of coffee following his every move with a frustration that matched his own. "So then you must also be aware that the Centipede had a protégé who set out to create his own branch of the Dark Crows."

Sam froze in his movements, turning back to the teen that was staring at him with an impudent challenge in his eyes. Sam cast him a challenging look of his own and demanded, "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"I told you," Cody began, his anger fading to a sort of sadness, "they take homeless kids and pretend to offer them a place to belong. When I was staying at a shelter once, they would come do the rounds to recruit kids. They tried to get me to join and told me about the boss like it was supposed to impress me."

Cody hesitated as though lost in thought before asking, "You don't think he could have known about Hank right?"

Sam took his fresh cup of coffee to the table, responding, "I don't see how he could. The records were sealed and the press was never involved."

Cody nodded mutely and they fell into another silence filled only by the voices of the movie still playing in the living room. Again, Sam's mind fell into sorting through events as he contemplated this new information. He didn't see how the new gang leader could have heard of Hank even if someone had informed him of the death of the Dark Crows, but he couldn't rule out the idea right away either. Then there was the unexplained matter of Cody and Joe's kidnappings.

If Cody's kidnapping wasn't related to the scriptures than whom and for what reason would someone want him out of the way? Also how did they know to find him at the mall that day unless they were following him? Or someone he was with. Then Joe had summed up his own dilemma: how would killing him provide a beneficial enough result to serve as payment for a debt? It didn't seem like it should be a possibility, but Sam began to consider the theory that the events were related. Perhaps Cody and Joe hadn't been the primary targets, but there was still the matter of figuring out how their being out of the way accomplished anything.

As he mulled over the matter Sam watched Cody sit at the table across from him. The bruise on his cheek from his run in at the mall had deepened to dark blue, now tinged with a muddy green around the edges. It had been too similar to his experience with Soren not to have them all worried. Sam recalled how panic-stricken Hank had been over the teen and filled with what Sam clearly recognized as a self-chastising as though Hank thought he could have prevented the matter.

As his thoughts began to roll over that day the pieces of his theory began to fall into place. Perhaps Hank had been the real target all along and Cody's and Joe's kidnappings were the pinnacle meant to upset Hank on a deeply emotional level. Perhaps there were even other instances he simply wasn't aware of, which would all explain for Hank's declined mood and health. Of course the theory also meant that someone from the new Dark Crows gang had found out about Hank's identity, and he still didn't see how that was possible.

Rising from the table, Sam abandoned his mug and walked back to the front entrance, jerking on his boots and coat before grabbing his car keys and cell phone. Cody followed him, clearly confused at the abruptness of his movements and surprised at his getting ready to leave again.

"Where are you going?" Cody questioned just as he yanked the door open, shivering from the gust of cool air that swept past them.

"I'm taking a drive down to the cemetery. Stay inside and lock the doors."

When Sam arrived a few minutes later the gates were closed as he had expected. He found a security guard on duty at the main office, however, and managed to convince the elder man to leave the warm coziness of his office to traipse through the snow to Hannah's grave. Even at a distance Sam could see that the area was empty, but still he went to the marker. The snow above the grave had been shoveled aside and the new falling snow had not accumulated enough to completely cover the stone again. A wilted plant with blackened leaves sat in the snow mound beside the grave. Beside it was a small trail of flattened snow as though someone had fallen; maybe even dragged a little.

Sam tried to think back to what Cody had said about the street gangs being like a family. If the Centipede's protégé really was the one behind this than surely he was after revenge, but where would he have taken Hank to claim his vindication?


	16. Chapter 16

**AN. **Unedited, untitled, and about three (four?) years late, but finally done! I may be a bitch, but at least I'm not a liar - I swore to never abandon a story and so here's the ending. Enjoy!

**Chapter 16:**

Disoriented thoughts slowly flitted back to Hank as he gradually came awake. Behind his eyelids a soft orange glow danced along his vision and against his cheek pressed cold, porous cement. At first, all he could think was that neither sensation made sense since the last thing he could remember was the cold snow pressed against his legs and numbing his fingers, but then he remembered the hands grabbing him from behind, pulling him away.

As the memories flooded back to him, Hank forced his eyes open, blinking to adapt to the darkness as he surveyed the room from what he could see with the single light bulb swinging on its suspended wire. Near as he could tell cement walls surrounded him. From the corner of his vision he could make out part of a table tossed on its side, he tried to crane his neck to make out the rest, but couldn't lean back far enough.

His shoulder was also beginning to hurt, supporting his weight, but when he tried to push himself up he realized for the first time that his arms were bound behind his back. He tried to test the bonds, but while they weren't metal they did still hold firm. The softness of the leather strips pinched into his skin and chaffed the more he struggled. Finally abandoning the thought of using his hands Hank strained on his shoulder to push himself into a sitting position. From his new vantage point he looked around the room again, but didn't see much more. A solid metallic door, with something that looked like yellow tape hanging off the frame, proved to be the only exit. Other than that he noticed the floor had been littered with papers.

The glossy shine they reflected when the lamp swung over them drew Hank's attention and that's when he noticed they weren't just papers, but rather were photographs. More specifically they were shots of him; leaving the psychiatrists office, doing groceries, walking in the mall with Cody, and talking to Sam and Joe. His whole life for the past few weeks lay before him and each time the lamp swung around he caught a new segment of the story.

His gaze frantically cast around the room, wanting to catch anything but the unknowingly naïve look of himself as the feeling of being a voyeur to his own life hit hard. He didn't understand who would do this. What purpose it would serve? But it had the effect of stirring the darkened depths buried within him. A sensation that only seemed to settle when his eyes landed on the portrait of dried blood splattered on one of the walls. For a moment he stared mesmerized then once more he slowly looked around the room, seeing the chamber with new eyes. That's when he realized that he knew exactly where he was.

"You remember where you are, don't you?" a familiar voice questioned like an echo to his thoughts, floating from the darkened doorway.

It didn't surprise him that the door had been as soundless as the time he was there last. Hank turned his attention to the disembodied sound, finding only the barest outline of a man clothed in a suit; his black leather boots reflecting the little light that reached him just as well as it reflected the mental of a gun handle tucked into his belt. The hands were different, but just as devoid of stains; manipulating the puppet strings of others to do his dirty work.

"It's just the way I imaged hell would look," Hank replied stoically, "I guess killing you is my entrance fee."

A dark chuckle resounded, followed by the amused laden words, "Your little act of bravado doesn't impress me."

Hank retorted with a dark grin that pulled from the demon in his center and said, "Well I'm sorry to bruise your ego but don't think that you're frightening me. The worst you can do is kill me and I'm not afraid of dying."

"Don't underestimate me boy." The voice of the silhouette hardened in annoyance and Hank found he was becoming annoyed himself with talking to the shadow. "I'm inside your head. I've watched you so long I can tell what you're feeling – what you're thinking at this very moment. You might not be afraid of death, but you're not the only one to consider. Do you think your friends share your sentiment?"

"They can take care of themselves," Hank responded, refusing to acknowledge the twinge in his gut that the words summoned.

Subtly Hank began to twist his hands, letting the leather straps burn into his wrists as the skin was worked raw, until his efforts were distracted by the stranger's next words.

"I told you once before didn't I?" the stranger asked rhetorically, taking a step into the narrow circle of light, "that I find it funny how someone else's pain can so quickly become our own."

The words registered their meaning before Hank's eyes focused in on the figure. For the second time that night his eyes traveled up from the polished boots bellow the hem of the tailored pants, past the manipulative hands, and to the deeply sinister grin plastered on a familiar face. However, while Hank recognized the man from the day he dropped Cody off at the grocery store no matter how hard he pressed his memory he could not place him in the scene from that night when he murdered so many. Each face had been burned on his conscience, but this one stood unaccounted for.

"They had nothing to do with me then," Hank ground out, looking his captor square in the eyes, "you had no right to drag them into this. Your men deserved to die!"

In the empty cavern of the room Hank's words rang out, taking form and filling every dark corner, creeping into the creases, suffusing with dried blood and then settling in to watch the chaos that would follow. The stranger, for his part, narrowed his eyes and stepped forward to deliver a vicious backhanded swipe with his closed fist. Silently he let fly a second blow, and Hank couldn't help but gasp at the pain as his head was once more tossed to the side with the trajectory.

The stranger grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head back so there was no choice but to match gazes as he hissed, "Someone like you has no business even thinking they can make that decision. You think my men deserved to die? Well for all the trouble you and that stupid little bitch caused I think her death was a blessing. They could have done so much more than rape her."

The stranger released his hold with a shove; strands of hair falling to the ground when his fingers pulled back. He didn't go far however, his words continuing to slither over Hank with an unpleasant calmness.

"I hear you were there when they raped her. Did she scream? Did she moan?" A dark chuckle echoed through the chamber. "That's what upsets you the most isn't it - the fact that you couldn't save her?"

Rather than replying Hank locked his jaw, tasting the metallic tang of blood slipping through his lips, and focused his rage once more on his wrists. He curled his nails into the tender flesh of his left hand and ripped them across the exposed portion of skin around the restraint. The pain burned, but he forced himself to repeat the process again. Harder. Digging his nails in deeper as though he meant to gauge out a chunk of his own flesh. And finally he felt it. The slow, hot trickle of blood as his nails finally broke through skin.

He'd been blindly focused on his task and on detaching his mind from what the stranger had been saying, forcing himself not to see Hannah on that bed again, that he was caught off guard when one of those polished boots slammed solidly into the center of his unprotected chest. The blow unbalanced him and Hank fell backward, his gasp turning into coughs as he tried to regain his breath and twisted onto his side to avoid the second impact.

His captor stomped down on his ribs again and Hank tried in his restrictive movements to get away, not that his feeble efforts accomplished much more than stealing the little breath he could gather. His captor was the one to back off again, proving he had the upper hand and reinforcing the knowledge by circling Hank like a predator waiting for the right moment to reach down and snatch his prey.

"Yes you should be lucky they killed her," the stranger reiterated, and as much as Hank wished he could ignore that callous voice he just couldn't. "I've had the displeasure of dealing with women after rape myself and do you know what they're like afterward? It changes them; takes all the fight out of them. She wouldn't want you to touch her. The very thought of doing anything sexual would repulse her and underneath all that – at the very heart of the matter – would be her hatred towards you. Her anger would be directed at you for letting it happen; for being too incompetent to stop it. See the real problem would be you and your ever present failure that taints her body, because all you really did was sit by and watch as she suffered. You may hate my men, but they saved you from having to live along side that mistake. From having to see that accusing look in her eyes."

_That isn't true._

"She knows the truth," Hank rasped, still struggling to regain his breath.

_I'm sure she sees you tried your best…_

His captor sank to one knee before him, grabbed another fistful of hair, and dragged Hank closer before replying, "The truth is that she was raped and you were there to watch.

_She sees you tried your best…_

Hank was beginning to see the man's tactics for what they were – a way to distract and disorient him; a way to make him suffer. Still as hard as he tried not to sink into the trap the words still had an affect on him. His thoughts were thrown back to that night. He could almost smell the acrid smoke from the gunshots, hear Hannah crying and calling his name. With perfect clarity he could see her pale skin and those beautiful eyes devoid of life. Rather than getting lost in the past, however, Hank tried to distract himself with what he could in the present.

His nails continued to scratch away at his wrist and he could feel the small trickle of blood sluggishly run down to be absorbed in the material of the restraint. He searched the room for anything jagged or remotely sharp to help the process but had no luck. All he saw was the turned over table, its surface perfectly smooth, and the littered photographs. Taking inventory of himself however he felt the piercing pinch of a broken button on his coat sleeve.

As though to remind him at whose mercy he was the man yanked Hank's hair again, drawing a wince, before slowly dragging out the gun from his belt and displaying it in front of his eyes.

In a taunting manner the man continued, "Not to worry, not to worry, I've saved one especially for you. I'd say you'll be seeing your little whore soon enough, but…well let's face it," he laughed, "You'll be going somewhere else won't you. I suppose now would be a good time to realize you'll never be together again."

Trying to keep his movements small and imperceptible, Hank pulled his sleeve down over his hand, aligned the button shard to the scrapped skin and sliced in. Blood from the cut flowed more freely and soon Hank could feel the leather of the restraints expand and weaken as it absorbed the fluid. With a final vicious jerk on the frail cord the ends snapped and Hank could feel the freedom of having the use of his hands again. Acting quickly to keep the element of surprise Hank dove forward, catching the man in the jaw with his fist.

The gun skidded across the floor as both men fell to the ground, their footsteps and punches uncoordinated and messy as each tried to get the upper hand. Pushing onto his knees, Hank tried quickly to get to his feet; to get to the gun – the only weapon in the room. But he was tackled back to the ground from behind; his hair once more yanked up only to be used as a tool to slam his head into the concrete flooring. His temple and cheek absorbed the choke, darkening his vision momentarily before swift pain thread through his head, building pressure behind his eyes.

Again and again the action was repeated. The side of his face felt scrapped tender and bruised; a trickle of blood leaked down into his eye and half blinded him. His neck screamed from fighting against the momentum, but not as much as his back cried out where a knee jammed into his kidney.

Thrashing and bucking against the immobilizing knee and the hand in his hair, Hank managed to throw his captor sideways, dislodge them both. Taking advantage of the few seconds of freedom to drag himself forward, crawling out of reach, and stretched out his arm for the discarded gun. He could distinctly hear the metal scrap along the ground as his fingers latched onto the handle and dragged the weapon to him. The cocking of the hammer rang through the room like a church bell.

"I want her back," Hank growled in a grated voice, raising the gun and taking a perverse pleasure in the look of panic that crossed over the other man's face. "I want her back," he repeated again and again. His finger jerking on the trigger and briefly interrupting the gravely chant.

The vacuous whistle of the bullet caught in his ears, deafening him to any other possible sound. Like a nervous twitch his finger kept pulling against the trigger. _Click, click, click _as the empty chambers kept revolving around.

At first Sam didn't think he would find anything useful. The club had been deserted since the Dark Crows killing. Even now there were no lights and not a car lay in sight in the near vicinity. The door was unlocked, but that didn't surprise him. It had been open since the police investigation and would have been the perfect place to house a number of squatters, especially in the resent cold winter months. What did surprise him was the lack of rutty blankets, or the remnants of a scavenged fire…even the dust looked unmoved in three of the four corners of the room.

_What's keeping the rats away?_

Just as Sam moved to follow the trail of slushy tracks along the edge of the bar, he was startled by a crashing noise just beyond the discreetly hidden metal door in the far corner. Cautiously Sam moved forward, slipping through the door and entering the small hall beyond. The lighting from the bare bulbs swayed drunkenly in the disserted space, stirred by air vents set in the ceiling.

He moved slowly to keep his steps from echoing, aware that if he was caught there was no where to hide and nothing to protect himself with. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sounding louder with each step closer now that he could hear the screams and struggle from within the room he was approaching. He could hear the sickening slam and thumb of flesh against flesh; the scrapping and scuffling of a hand to hand struggle.

He wasn't sure what he was coming up against or what he expected to see, but when he pushed the door noiselessly aside he was momentarily paralyzed by the sight. A tableau - frozen for just an instant - of two men facing each other; the stranger looked small and scared compared to his counterpart. Sam had never seen that look in Hank's eyes before. Stone cold and vengeful; making him look almost demonic with the blood that ran down the side of his face and stained his hands.

"Hank!" Sam called, bursting into the room, but his cry was drowned out by Hank's own chant and the cry of the pistol.

It was a close range shot and there appeared to be only one bullet, but Hank's continued pulling of the trigger exposed the psychosis under the calm mask. Sam called him again, gently, but he didn't think Hank had even realized he was in the room. Quietly Sam knelt by him, keeping his movements slow so as not to startle him.

"Hank, give me the gun," he commanded, just above a whisper.

He slowly reached his hand out, wrapping it around the top of the gun, but Hank didn't even shift his gaze let alone release his hold. Sam had to pry it from his fingers and the instant he managed to get a hold of it Hank seemed to collapse under the turmoil reeling within him. He folded himself in half, shaking with his cries.

He flinched away when Sam tried to comfort him so the detective instead stood up, wiped the prints clean from the gun and deliberately repressed the murdered man's fingers back in position along with his own set of marks. Then he placed another call to Cameron Bosa.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:**

It was like watching reality slowly sink back into play and once more resuming his place in the space of things. Time had frozen when he had possession of the gun, but it more than made up for it by fast-forwarding through the police arrival, their questioning, blinding photography, carting away of the body, and finally his being ushered into an ambulance. Without a word or struggle he allowed himself to be laid on the gurney for the ride to Sacred Heart Hospital where he continued to be placating as the doctors ran him through a battery of tests, X-rays, and CT scans. They'd even had him sit through another psychological evaluation to see if his kidnapping had shaken any tendencies lose, but he'd successfully hidden that little demon long before then.

It took several hours, but finally he'd been moved to a room, sure that no severe or permanent physical damage had been done. A mild concussion, two cracked ribs, and five stitches were his prize for the evening. If nothing else the past few hours had served as a distraction, but now there was nothing left to do except sit around and wait. Just him and his thoughts. He supposed it was lucky his bed was by a window. He watched the action of the hospital's emergency entrance three floors below him, where the flashing lights of the ambulances shattered the pitch-blackness of the morning. It vaguely reminded him on the nightclubs siren calling of neon orb lights and pulsating beats.

Slowly he sunk back into that night. Picturing the street as though he were walking down it again. He could feel the cold prickle of raindrops hitting his bare skin and smell the thick fog of alcohol, sweat, and the carbon remains of the fire that clung to his clothes. Even now he reveled in their looks of helpless fear and his fingers jerked in the motion of firing a gun.

Hank had just turned away from the window, clenching his fingers against the sensation when the door opened behind him. Sam approached him with two Styrofoam cups of coffee and silently offered him one. Hank accepted it only to keep his hands busy.

"When can I get out of here, do you think?" Hank asked in a light tone that he didn't really feel.

"There still waiting on the results of your CT scans, but just the same they want to keep you overnight for observation. Better drink up now while you have the chance," Sam replied, taking the seat by the bed.

A lull fell between them; Hank not wanting to talk and Sam seeming to know better than to question him. He didn't want to relive the night. He didn't want to share what that psycho had said to him or how he had tormented him, but there were nagging questions that he just had to voice.

Staring down into his empty cup Hank asked, "Who was he?"

"Chris Yovan," Sam answered immediately. "A right-hand man of sorts to the Centipede. He looked up to the man like a father and it seems he's been planning this revenge for a while."

"How did he find me? I thought the records were sealed."

Sam paused for a moment before cautiously replying, "Your records _are _sealed and as far as we can tell no one's touched them or even asked about them. He must have had someone reporting to him from the beginning or someone who passed on your name."

Sam paused again, staring at him like he was gagging the logic in telling him the rest, but finally he continued, "In the club's office we found a security video from that night - one that shows you going into the back room. This is the first any of us have seen of this video so either someone got to it before the police did or one of the first men on scene pocketed the evidence."

Hank leaned back against the pillows, trying to wipe his mind clear of this new information. His thoughts were already too cluttered; he didn't think he could handle more questions. His eyes had just begun to drift shut when he was suddenly jarred back awake by the door opening.

"How are we doing Mr. Chogan?" the nurse asked, sparing a glance at his vitals.

He ignored her question, preferring not to answer, which earned him a sour pout.

_It's going to be a long night._

* * *

It was several hours before the hospital was satisfied enough to discharge him. The sun had begun to creep up into a grey sky and the snow had finally stopped, giving the plows a chance to clean off the streets. For that at least Hank was grateful since Sam had called them a cab and the last thing Hank wanted at this point was to be stuck in traffic.

The site of the apartments was a welcome one and he breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to step out of the cab and drag his tired feet towards home. Joe was at the door before he had even made his way through the parking lot, but Hank only spared him a cursory look before dropping his eyes to his feet again. At a glance Hank noted the busted lip and bruised cheek, but he couldn't even summon the energy to be curious as to how either had happened.

"Thank god you're okay," Joe began, drawing back into the house when Hank sluggishly tried to pass him. "You had me up half the night worrying…"

His words faded off as without a comment Hank made his way to the bathroom, even ignoring Jeff's whines as he tried to follow. The reflection that greeted him in the mirror was like a rather unpleasant old friend. He remembered the sight of sunken, dull green eyes and matted brown hair and for an instant he felt like that person again.

_He knew who I was… he knew what happened to Hannah. _That was what disturbed Hank the most. He had killed everyone that had witnessed what happened and had only told one psychologist the details – details which had been sealed with the rest of his case.

With a sigh he turned on the tap and leaned over to splash some water on his face, wincing at the sting caused to his scrapes and cuts. Just as he reached for a towel to dry off with the door rattled with jarring bangs. Too tired to be irritated, Hank tossed the towel onto the edge of the tub and opened the door.

"Are you all right?" Joe asked, leaning in the doorway and blocking his path.

"It's been a really long night," Hank sighed, still in no mood to talk about what happened and sure that Sam would have filled Joe in anyway. "I just need some sleep."

Joe straightened up and took a step out of the way, as though silently saying "go ahead."

It was all Hank could do to change into sweats and slip into bed, finally letting his lead rimmed eyes shut and allowing his muscles to begin releasing their pent up tension. His mind still buzzed incessantly with questions and images, but before long he finally found sleep. His rest was fitful and by late afternoon he was pulled back to consciousness, still far too tired to even consider pulling himself from bed.

Hank turned onto his side and tried to recapture sleep, but instead he tormented himself by wallowing in past memories and what had been repressed sorrow over a life lost. Images of walking down the hallways of elementary schools swiftly morphed into a metallic hallway filled only with an electrical buzz and a string of dangling bare bulbs offering their faint glow like a light leading the moth. As hard as he tried to recapture the happy, healthy look of Hannah all he could muster was her face pale in terror and her eyes glazed in death. A few times he had been able to shut down completely, staring sightlessly out the window for hours on end, but in that span of nothingness the old scar on his stomach would throb in pain like a wound reopened.

Barely aware of the creeping passage of time, one day turned into two and slowly slunk into three. Joe tried to entice him out a few times with food and company, but Hank brushed him off with little care for his rudeness. Once Cody had snuck in his room and knelt beside the bed, leaning his head toward Hank's and whispering soothingly as though to entice a wild animal, but Hank couldn't do more than stare at him and finally Sam pulled him away. A few times he heard Jeff scratching at the door, but in his mind the sound turned into the repetitive pull of the trigger, which began his cycle of decent all over again. Chris Yovan had found him – had followed him for weeks. He _knew_ what happened to Hannah. How could he know what they had done to her?

By the third day it was easy to return to that long ago thought that dying didn't seem so bad. Even though the phantom pain in his stomach was throbbing, it wasn't enough of a distraction and Hank couldn't help brushing over the fading scars on his wrists. That innocent green vein that pulsed with blood underneath the small protection of skin was becoming more tempting. It was while he was staring at his wrist that Joe burst into the room, carrying a tray and a look of pure exasperation.

He slammed the tray down on Hank's nightstand before turning to him and none-too gently commenting, "I'm done sitting around while you slowly kill yourself. Eat something before you pass out then get out of bed and take a goddamn shower because you're starting to smell."

Hank didn't respond and Joe didn't wait for him to comment before turning to leave the room again, calling over his shoulder, "I'm going out, but I'm expecting someone later this afternoon so seriously get your ass out of bed."

Hank listened to the front door closing, but he didn't move right away and since Joe had left his door opened Jeff took the opportunity to come see him. The big cat planted himself on Hank's chest, nuzzling his nose under Hank's chin and purring softly at the missed affection when he was scratched behind the ears. They stayed like that for about an hour, but finally Hank became aware of the grim coating his teeth, the tangles in his hair, and the emptiness of his stomach.

He knew he couldn't do that again – think about death – and truthfully he really didn't want to. He thought of Cody's concerned face leading beside his as he knelt beside the bed, of Sam offering him coffee in the hospital, and Joe rushing to him when he came home. He wasn't ready to die. He wasn't ready to leave them. More than wanting to repress thoughts of Hannah's death, what he really didn't want to admit to was that he had found a life without her. For so long it had just been the two of them, secluded from the world, but now he had managed to find himself a place surrounded by friends and that felt like a betrayal.

With a sigh Hank repositioned Jeff to lie down beside him so he could turn to the nightstand and eye the food Joe had brought him. Cold toast sat on plate along with a mug, which Hank discovered to be tea. The food didn't entice his appetite, but after almost three days of starving himself it was probably the only solid his stomach could handle. Shifting to his side he forced his hand to reach for a slice and took a bite, the rough texture scrapping at his soft palate until his mouth felt raw and sore. He managed to eat half the slice before abandoning the effort, instead forcing his weak legs to draw out of bed and stumble down the hall to the bathroom.

It was an effort, but Hank avoided his reflection in the mirror, knowing what he would see and not prepared to face what he had done to himself. He brushed his teeth twice before running the water the shower, adjusting the temperature to as hot as his skin could stand. He took his time washing, scrubbing till his skin felt almost rubbed raw, but it didn't erase the stamp of guilt.

Hank found the energy to shave, but couldn't bring himself to get dressed and so he settled on a clean pair of jogging pants and sweat-top before settling on the couch. With half an eye he watched television, but his mind had long since gone into another frozen state. He hadn't even realized how long he had been sitting there until the doorbell caused him to look up and realize that it had turned dark with early evening.

It took Hank a moment to blink away the stupor by which time the ringing seemed to take on an impatient tone. When he opened the door the burly face that greeted him was just as impatient and vaguely familiar.

"Another delivery," the bearded man informed brusquely as he wedged himself into the house, waving in two youths behind him.

"But we're not expecting," Hank began, his voice low and gravely from lack of use.

He was ignored, however, as soon as the lumberjack man handed him the clipboard to sign. Hank hesitated, watching as the two teenagers lugged in a large cardboard box that they dropped in the middle of the living room, which they were instantly chastised for. The lumberjack man was strict in directing them but efficient as he slit open the tape on the box and carefully unwrapped the pieces inside before handing them to the boys to assemble. Hank watched as a dark wooden frame was pulled from the box then fitted with shelves that were quickly screwed into place, forming a chest high bookcase.

"You want it somewhere?" the man demanded, turning back to Hank.

"No," he croaked and shook his head, quickly scrawling his signature to the form before handing back the clipboard and following the group as they let themselves out.

It was only a few minutes longer before Joe got home, holding a large pizza box and smiling – whether at the fact that Hank was out of bed or that his bookcase had been delivered was unclear. By that time Hank had settled back onto the coach, cradling a cup of tea and admiring the sleek simplicity in the bookcase's design.

"Good it got here," Joe began, putting the pizza box on the coffee table as he slipped out of his coat.

It was beautiful, but it seemed to scream Hank's insecurities once more that he wasn't really needed – perhaps not even wanted. He felt more like a burden now than ever. Watching Joe smile through his busted lip and bruised face only made him feel guiltier. Had Chris Yovan been responsible for it? On top of suffering through his self-destruction over the last few days had Hank caused Joe's pain too?

Joe carried over napkins and beers to the living room and sat down on the couch beside him. In silence he served Hank and himself a slice, watching quietly as Hank took a small bite.

"So what do you think of your Christmas gift?" Joe asked, breaking the awkward moment between them.

Surprised Hank stared up at him, only causing Joe to grin again and continue, "I thought it would be nicer than that fire hazard going on in your bedroom."

_A gift. _It was something big, permanent. One more thing to tie him to the apartment.

"I think it's just what I needed," Hank replied softly, brushing his fingers over the smooth surface.

_I'm sorry Hannah. It's going to be a while longer._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:**

The bus uptown had been crowded and the body heat generated was stifling, causing a light sheen of perspiration to coat Cody's skin, which then instantly froze when he stepped out into the cold, still a few blocks from the Mall. It had been three days since Joe and Hank had been kidnapped; two days since Cody had been allowed to see Hank and just as quickly had been forced out of the room by Sam. However, things finally settled back down and from the chaos sprouted the excitement of Christmas once more – at least in Cody. Between concerns for Sam who spent his days in the hospital alongside his friend and Hank who refused to get out of bed, Cody had been too distracted to even think about shopping, but now it was Christmas Eve and he felt like he was on a mission.

He felt for the plastic bag with two small items wrapped inside in his pocket again as he stepped into the warmth and bustle of the Mall, bee-lining for the little shop where he had found Sam's present. In comparison to the main arteries, the small side hall was less crowded and the store only had a handful of customers aside from him, but even then the man running the counter look frazzled and moved around busily. When Cody approached the counter the man look at him with a wavering smile and straightened his glasses.

"What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly, but Cody still caught the frazzled undertones in his voice.

"I bought some things here a few days ago and I would like to engrave initials," Cody replied, pulling out the cigarette case and lighter, "I was told I couldn't do it right away because the guy wasn't here."

"Well he's here today, but he just left for his lunch break. He won't be back for another hour," the man explained, unfolding a blue cardboard box and pulling the two items from the plastic bag where they were in danger of being scratched.

"An hour?" Cody repeated dejectedly, feeling the gift was being pulled further away from him. He had been so close.

"It's only an extra five bucks for the engraving, if you'd rather forget it you can always give them as is," the clerk offered.

It wasn't about the money though. Cody wanted that special touch for Sam. He wanted the detective to know the gift could have been for no one else.

With a sigh Cody shook his head, "No I'll wait. Can you please just put them aside?"

"Sure thing," the clerk smiled, folding the case and lighter in amongst tissue paper in the blue box and placing it safely by the register on the other side of the display counter.

The man turned back to his work, but Cody waited there a moment longer, staring at his prize and wishing he wasn't feeling so stubborn about the initials. He didn't want to, but he finally moved aside when another couple came up to the counter to call for the clerk's attention. He still couldn't bring himself to wander too far, and certainly not out of sight of Sam's gift, so he spent a few minutes perusing the store.

The wait seemed endless and he was finally forced to sit down in a secluded corner where he eyed everyone that came into the store. He wasn't sure who he was looking for, but that seemed a minor detail at that point. Seventy-eight minutes later, there was still no sign of any potentials. Cody was becoming hungry and impatient and the clerk kept sending him discrete side-glances, but then, for the first time in over ten minutes, a man walked into the store catching both their attention.

"Damn those food court burritos! I love them, but the call-back's a bitch," the man laughed still stuffing a last bit in his mouth.

Cody wrinkled his nose, hoping this joker wasn't who he had been wasting his time on, but it seemed it was. The guy was short, but stocky, his skin a blotchy brown and his black curls slicked back with a greasy looking gel. Cody watched as he wedged his frame behind the counter, puttering around lazily to the discontentment of the clerk. Still frowning Cody hurried to the counter, his anxious excitement overcoming his displeasure.

"I'm waiting to have something engraved," Cody explained, once he had gotten the attention of the newly arrived worker.

"Well you can keep waiting," was the brusque reply, "I'm backed up on orders. Keep your receipt and you can come back for it in two hours."

Cody's mouth dropped open incredulously and his anger quickly boiled over. He was ready to explode at the lazy git and chew him out by telling him exactly what he thought of him, but he was stopped with a calm, cold hand placed on his arm, encouraging him to back away down the counter and to the register. The frazzled clerk offered a small smile, adjusting his glasses again before retrieving Cody's present. Cody stared at it longingly, feeling guilty that he once again needed to make the choice between waiting or giving Sam an incomplete version.

"I'm just a temp here," the clerk explained in a hushed voice. Cody remained silent at the information, eyeing the man curiously. At his silence the clerk continued, "If I knew I'd never let you have waited this long. You can come back if you want to wait for this guy, but any key cutter will do it for you just as well. Shoe repair shops too."

_What does a shoe repairer know about engraving?_

"Thank you," Cody mumbled, retrieving his items.

He allowed himself to flow back into the stream of people rushing through the malls as he debated with what he should do. The only place he knew of that cut keys was the hardware stores back across town. He'd have to wait forty-five minutes for the bus and then do a transfer so it would take him an hour to get there. If by chance they didn't do the engraving he didn't think he'd be able to make it back to the mall before closing to have the clown do it. That left him the shoe repairer.

His options slim, Cody made his way down another small artery on the other side of the mall, to a small stand tucked between a pet store and one of the mall exits. The stand was empty when he first approached, but as soon as Cody rang the bell a small man with thin grey hair and comically-round glasses pocked his head out from the back room.

"How can I help you, young man," the man asked with a friendly smile as he came out into the front room.

Cody fully expected the friendly smile to drop away and for the man to send him off with a shout that expressed just how much he didn't appreciate the prank, but instead he stood his ground and explained, "I want to get an engraving done. Just two initials. Is that something you can do?"

His smile broadening the man said, "Well let's see what we have to work with."

Cody handed over the small blue box and watched the man's eyes sparkle as he opened the lid and pulled each item out to inspect them. He didn't reply when the man commented on the beauty of the items, and only offered the two letters for the initials when asked. Cody just had time to wonder if the old man's hands were steady enough to do the job he implied he'd do when the lighter and case were whisked in the workshop in back.

The five minute wait felt long and to distract himself from his impatient enthusiasm he drummed his fingers on the counter and tried to look through the open doorway into the back. It occurred to him that the old man hadn't told him what the initials would look like. For all Cody knew the engraving would be done in etched block letters like the tag-graffiti that littered the subway cars and bus station windows. The thought unnerved him to such a point that when the old man came back out front Cody leaned over the counter as far as he could to try and get a look at his work.

"Now how does this look to you?" the man asked with that same bright smile, placing the blue cardboard gift box in Cody's eager hands.

Pulling back the tissue paper Cody got his first look. "It's…"

* * *

It was still early. The sun had just begun its climb over the horizon, but Cody couldn't stay in bed any longer. He slipped out from between the warm confines of his blankets and, picking up the small gift from his nightstand he crept out of his room. He spared a glance down the hall, but Sam's door was still closed and he didn't want to bother him. He had tried asking Sam to come home early the night before, but his response had been a "can't" disguised as a "we'll see". It had been really late when Sam had finally trudged in from visiting the hospital so he'd wait for the detective to wake up on his own.

Quietly slipping down the stairs, Cody settled on the couch, pulling his knees up for warmth and holding the gift to his chest. He'd finally found a nice wrapping paper – silver with a row of metallic, oval-looking penguins wearing red scarves – but it had been hard to fold and the corners were a little crumpled and loose. In all honesty he didn't think Sam would care or even notice.

For a while he was able to entertain himself looking out the window at the gentle snowfall and the twinkling of Christmas lights on the few houses that decorated down their street. Eventually he grew restless, though, and as time ticked by he decided to start making breakfast. He kept it simple with French toast and bacon and had just placed the last bits of crispy meat on a plate when Sam walked into the kitchen.

"Doesn't smell too terrible," Sam commented through a yawn as he moved to make the coffee.

"I am capable of this much," Cody replied with a smile, carrying the prepared plates to the table.

They ate in silence – not uncommon or particularly uncomfortable – but Cody couldn't help fidgeting in his seat. He was more anxious than ever to give Sam his present and could barely wait till they had finished clearing their dishes. In an effort to move then into the living room quicker Cody swept up the dishes the moment they were done then hurried to follow Sam when he sauntered out of the kitchen.

"I want to give you something," he finally had the chance to inform, handing Sam the small, crinkle-cornered package.

Sam just sighed and dropped down on the couch. "You should have saved your money."

Cody wasn't deterred by the tone; he took a seat on the couch by Sam, clasping his hands together. "No I wanted to do this for you. You know, to say thanks for everything."

He held his breath as Sam put his mug down on the coffee table and unwrapped the paper from the box. He bit his lip when Sam opened the box and pulled back the tissue paper. He wiped his sweaty palms on his sweatpants when Sam picked up the lighter, brushing his fingers over the swirling letter engraving. What was most aggravating was that through the whole thing Sam remained silent, his expression unchanging.

"It's-" Cody began to explain that it was just a small thank-you gift and he hoped Sam would use it, but was instantly interrupted.

"This is amazing," Sam finally commented with such a rare small grin that it eased any insecurity Cody had of whether he liked the gift or not. "This is perfect."

Leaning back in his seat with a smile, Cody pulled his knees up to his chest and unnecessarily commented, "I wanted to find something that would be useful to you."

"You did good," Sam replied, ruffling Cody's hair. "Go ahead and open yours."

"Huh?"

"Don't tell me you've been up all morning and you haven't noticed." Sam jerked his chin in the direction of the tree as he picked up his coffee again.

For the first time that morning Cody turned his attention to the tree; his eyes falling to the lowest branches where tucked in around the base was a handful of presents. He couldn't believe he had missed them. But then again, he'd left Joe and Hanks gifts in his room for when they came over later that morning and he had been too busy holding on to Sam gift to consider putting it under the tree where it belonged. _Sam got me presents? _

Slipping off the couch, Cody sat on the floor and pulled the closet gifts to him. He looked up at Sam briefly who just waited patiently, sipping his coffee, before tearing into the paper and revealing two movies- his favorite Peanuts episode and A Christmas Carol, which he had been trying to watch for weeks.

"Oh man, this is so awesome!"

The fact that Sam had thought to get him the film, which he had to know he was going to be forced to watch today was the best present Cody could have asked for. It didn't begin to compare to the others; a new sweater and jeans, a CD player, and two gift cards. Cody had just gone back to them, debating which one to watch first, when the doorbell rang. He'd almost forgotten that Hank and Joe were coming over.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this excited about a holiday; he bounded to the door before Sam could even tell him to get it then just as quickly rushed upstairs for the other two gifts he had. Another round of gift giving proceeded leaving in its wake the shredded remains of festive paper and crumpled tissue. It was such an amazing feeling – like being part of family – it made him consider for just a moment the parents he had never known.

_Would they be like Sam? Would it feel like this?_

Hank had found a boneless turkey roast and Cody found he didn't mind postponing his movies for a while longer as he helped prepare an early supper. Hank insisted on a traditional meal: Italian sausage stuffing, sugar glazed carrots, bread crumb sautéed strong beans, mashed potatoes, and an orange-cranberry sauce he made from scratch. He even made fresh whipped cream to go with the pumpkin pie he brought for dessert; a treat like nothing Cody had ever tasted.

Once the food had been prepared, and with four hours to go before the turkey was ready Cody finally got everyone into the living room. Pressed between Sam and Hank on the couch, while Joe opted to stretch out on the loveseat, and with the colorful remains of their Christmas morning still messily surrounding them, Cody finally settled back to watch A Christmas Carol. For once everything felt calm, peaceful…_perfect. _


	19. Chapter 19

**Epilogue:**

The grave site was as cold and desolate as the weather that morning. The sky was grey with rolling storm clouds that blocked the sunlight, creating only the faintest glow of light reflected by the cover of snow around the tombstones. A small intimate crowd gathered together, huddled for warmth, as the coffin was lowered into the frozen earth and a melancholy trumpet sounded its decent. Standing isolated from the crowd was another small group; three of the four bandaged and bruised, but standing straight and unbroken in a growing fog of smoke.

"I'm sorry you didn't get your answers," Hank commented once they turned away from the grave site, not wanting to remain as the packed earth covered the casketed.

"If he was researching the scriptures then someone has to have information on them somewhere. I just need to know where to look," Sam replied as he lit another cigarette off the bud of his first.

He didn't care about the scriptures, what he wanted was answers about his father. He had hoped Jim would wake up, even just briefly to tell them what happened – who had did that to him, but to no avail. He had never regained consciousness before passing. Now Sam's life was once more riddled with a mystery in a mystery.

"Genet," a voice called behind him, interrupting his swirl of thoughts and feelings.

Sam pulled away from the others to walk back to where Cameron Bosa was approaching him from the grave side. He hadn't seen her earlier and assumed she had just gotten there. Obviously on business if the package she held was any indication.

"I'm so sorry for the loss," she said, reaching to squeeze his arm sympathetically.

He brushed off the touch and replied, "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to pay my respects of course," she shot back tersely, "and…this came for you at the office.

She handed over the brown paper parcel, waiting as he opened it and revealed a familiar leather-bound notebook. Quickly he flipped through the pages, scanning the familiar content. _Maybe I'll finally get some answers after all. _


End file.
